Lose Yourself in the Fog
by whynotitsfun
Summary: What would happen if you woke up to find that everyone you'd ever cared about was either dead or wanted you dead? And, you have no memory of how this had happened? Angst ensues... Canon Divergent, Charloe with a new twist... Rated M because of language and perhaps a smattering of future naughtiness.
1. Fog Descends

**A/N: I kind of played with this while procrastinating working on my other stories (I swear I will update my New Big Bad sooner rather than later – having a little writers block on that one). I wasn't sure if I should even post this one or not, but it kind of grew (most of it is written if not typed up. Just need to figure out chapter 2 before I can put the rest up), so I figured why the hell not. It's not like anyone's going to chase me with pitchforks if you all think this is silly (which you may very well think). And, I hadn't really intended on this being a Charloe, but it always seems to come out that way. Ships are fun to write, and It's really the only interesting ship in the series to me – sorry. (Too bad it'll never happen on the show, but that's what we're for!). So without further ado here is chapter 1. I apologize in advance. (Oh, takes place after Austin-ish but obviously is very canon divergent)**

Miles led the way for their little group as Monroe brought up the rear. Gene and Rachel's last ditch effort to recruit aid from Willoughby had not been a success. Miles and Charlie had gone with them with the little proof they'd managed to bring back from Austin. Monroe had tried to talk them out of it, had said it was a bad idea and was only going to end badly. But Rachel and Gene had been adamant that they needed to get help outside of Monroe's little army.

And now, if it wasn't for the fact that Monroe had a momentary blip of conscience, they'd probably all be dead already. They'd almost immediately been ratted out and surrounded. Truman was in the process of arresting all four of them when Monroe and Connor had burst into town with their men in tow to save their asses. But, with the help of the townsfolk (and the fact that Monroe had ordered his little clan to keep civilian casualties to a minimum – something he was now regretting), the Patriots had overwhelmed them. The men were scattered, many lay dead in the street.

They were heading now towards the seldom used side entrance in the wall. Monroe had not exactly planned on stealth for this rescue mission. The guy he'd sent to scout it out had made it clear when he'd returned that they went in guns blazing or not at all. Therefore, instead of sneaking into town, they'd simply blasted their way in. Miles shoved Rachel, Aaron and Gene through. With a nod at both Monroes, Miles exited as well, leaving Connor and Monroe to follow.

Connor raced ahead as Monroe turned around to cover his exit. He was standing a few yards away from the wall when the world exploded around him. The blast lifted Monroe and propelled him through the air. He moaned in agony as the shrapnel entered his body. As he came down his head hit the ground hard, rendering him unconscious as a part of the wall came crashing down above him. As the dust and rubble cleared, Connor and Miles realized Monroe was not coming.

With a glance at Charlie, Miles rolled his eyes and headed back through with Connor. The younger man raised the Patriot rifle he'd picked up and began to shoot, giving Miles cover in the confusion from the blast. Miles scrambled to dig through the debris. He finally dug his way down to Monroe after several minutes. His face was covered in bruises, his eyes closed, oblivious to the danger that lingered around him. Miles picked him up into a fireman's carry before disappearing into the night with Connor hot on his heels. The cover of night gave them the opportunity to run back to the safe house, where Aaron and Priscilla awaited their return.

Arriving at the safe house without having been accosted seemed to have been a miracle. Gene went to work looking Monroe over. He worked to carefully remove the shrapnel from Monroe' shoulder and side, and then took stock of his other injuries. A broken arm and leg would keep him immobile for weeks to come, although considering the manner in which he was injured, the man could consider himself lucky there were no compound fractures. Bruises marred his torso and face. What worried Gene the most was the fact that Monroe had remained unconscious while he was setting his broken bones. In Gene's experience, the pain of setting a bone was often enough to rouse an unconscious patient.

"How is he?" Miles asked from behind.

"I'm not sure yet. He's pretty banged up. Couple of broken bones and a lot of shrapnel. Got a couple of lumps on his head," Gene began.

"Well, good thing for him he's got a hard head," Miles said under his breath. "How soon until he's up? We've got to move."

Gene paused as he considered his patient. Lying here was one of the people he hated most in the world, but he'd taken an oath many years ago. Therefore, he'd treat him to the best of his ability. He turned to look at Miles. "Hard head or not, TBI is a real concern. If we have to move, well then we move. I don't know that it will make much of a difference with his treatment at this point."

Miles looked confused. "TBI? What do you mean, Gene?"

"Traumatic brain injury. Miles, I have no way of knowing how bad he's hit his head. There's a lot of bruising and swelling at the base of his neck, and when I set his arm and leg, he didn't wake up. I have no idea when or if he will wake up. Even before the blackout head injuries were serious. We just have to wait and see." Gene explained it carefully, watching Miles as the severity of Monroe' injuries sunk in.

"Okay, well then no use waiting here. We're leaving. Get him ready," he instructed as he walked off.

They traveled for well over a week, Monroe unmoving in the back of the wagon. With the help of Rachel and Aaron, they did their best to keep him hydrated. They spooned water into his mouth, counting on his natural swallow response to get it down. It was slow and tedious work, and because of the small amounts had to be done constantly. Charlie, Miles and Connor were left to keep their group moving and safe.

The days were long, and they finally settled in an abandoned farm over a hundred miles east of Willoughby. They needed to get out of Texas, although in truth they had no idea where to go. With Monroe injured and unable to fight, they had to lay low for the next several weeks, if not longer. So while Monroe lay in the bed upstairs, oblivious to the world around him, they slowly set up a semi-permanent home.

_Two weeks after Willoughby:_

Miles and Rachel looked on as Gene examined Monroe. Aaron had been taking his shift sitting in on him when Monroe had slowly started to rouse. Charlie and Connor were now cooling their heels in the hallway outside, allowing Gene room to work.

Monroe' eyes fluttered open, he looked around, waiting for his eyes to focus. "What the hell happened?" he asked in confusion as his eyes lit on Miles.

"Easy there, Bass. How do you feel?" Miles asked him, taking a step forward.

"Like shit. Where are we?" He didn't recognize his surroundings, and it was starting to worry him.

"We found a safe house to lay low for a while," Rachel explained. There was something about his expression that she found unsettling, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"Oh, hey Rachel," Monroe said as his eyes flitted over to her and then back to Miles again. "What, Rachel?" He did a double take. "Miles, you-you found them?"

Miles shook his head in confusion. "What are you talking about, Bass? Found who?"

Monroe furrowed his brows. "Rachel, Ben, the kids. Who did you think I meant?" He watched Rachel's expression change, grow cold and full of fury. She clenched her jaw and stalked out of the room, all but shoving Connor out of her way. "What the hell is her problem? What happened, Miles?"

Gene was already beginning to suspect what was happening, but had yet to voice his medical opinion. He could just as easily be faking, although he couldn't imagine why Monroe would. It wasn't his style and there would be little point in it. "There was an explosion, and you were injured. You have a broken arm and leg. You also hit your head. You've been unconscious for two weeks," he began to explain.

Monroe turned his head. The man before him looked very familiar, but he was having trouble placing him. He searched his memory for the information, finding it difficult to process. Finally he found a name to go with the face. "Doc Porter? You're Rachel's dad, right? I met you Ben's wedding. What are you doing in Pennsylvania? Don't you live in Texas or something?"

"Pennsylvania? No one's called it that for years. We're in Texas, Bass," Miles explained slowly.

Monroe furrowed his brow in confusion. His eyes suddenly widened. "Wait, Texas? That's impossible."

Miles opened his mouth to speak when Gene placed a hand on his arm to stop him. He nodded towards the door. Taking the hint, he shuffled out the door with Gene behind him. "What's wrong with him, Gene?"

"I keep telling you, I have no way of telling if he suffered any trauma to his brain. Head injuries can be tricky. He could just be disoriented, or it could be more extensive. We'll wait a bit and then I'll talk to him."

Connor piped in now, "What do you mean trauma? How badly was he hit?" Up until this point, Gene had spoken to him very little about his father's injuries. He'd known it was kind of bad, but no one had taken the time to explain it to him.

"Let's wait it out for a while and then we'll see." Gene told them again. They left Monroe alone for an hour while Gene went back in and finished checking his injuries.

"Connor, walk in and see if he recognizes you," Gene said quietly as he once again joined them in the hallway.

"Recognizes me? Why wouldn't he?" Connor said as he entered the room. He stepped in and waited for Monroe to acknowledge his presence in the room. "Hey, Dad." The words were foreign even to Connor. This wasn't a title he typically used when talking to his father.

"Excuse me? I think you might be a little lost, man." Monroe said, his agitation clearly showing through. He was foggy, and his body hurt, and Miles was acting strangely. He was starting to wonder how long he'd been out. Miles looked as shitty as he felt, like he hadn't slept in a very long time. And, what was the deal with Rachel? They'd searched for Ben and Rachel for months, but had never found them. Now suddenly she's here and acting like a bitch. What was going on?

Connor flinched before doing an about face and leaving the room. "What the hell was that?" he asked Gene.

Gene slowly walked back in and sat down in the chair next to the bed. There was a yellowed notebook and pencil on the nightstand. He picked them up and settled back. "I'm going to as you some questions. They'll seem kind of strange, but just answer them the best you can. What is your full name and birthdate?"

"Sebastian William Monroe, August 6, 1982. Is this really necessary?"

Gene wrote down something in the notebook. "Just bear with me," he said before he began a barrage of other questions about Monroe's childhood. He asked for dates and places, asked about his role in the military. Then he asked about the blackout. Then he asked the question that seemed to confirm his suspicions. "What day is it?"

"How the hell should I know? Ask Miles. He's better at keeping track without a calendar. October something," Monroe answered.

Gene wrote something down again. It was really mid-April. "What year is it?" He finally asked.

Monroe shifted uncomfortably. This barrage of questions was starting to make him feel apprehensive. Like there was something he was missing. "2015."

"How old are you?" Gene asked now.

"I'm thirty-three. I have blue eyes. I'm a goddamn Leo. I'm left handed. What the fuck is up with all of these questions? And where is Shelly?"

Gene looked up from the notebook. To say that he wasn't familiar with Monroe's life story would be putting it mildly. He' d been writing down answers for Miles to verify later, but the fact that he'd just asked for someone specific meant something. "Who's Shelly?"

"She's my wife, doc. Where is she? Why isn't she here? If I got hurt, she should be here. Is she okay? Maybe you should, I don't know look at her or something. She's due soon, you know." Miles, Charlie and Connor had been watching from the doorway.

"Oh no," Miles said, louder than he'd intended.

Gene looked to the door when he heard Miles. He turned back to Monroe. "I'll go see if I can find her for you. I'll be back in a few minutes."

He left the room quietly and closed the door behind him. "Who is Shelly really?" he asked as he ushered them further down the hallway.

"Shelly really was Bass' wife," Miles began.

This slice from his past stunned Charlie. "He was married?" The question slipped before she could stop herself. It bothered her more than it should have.

Miles narrowed his eyes at Charlie for a second, her tone having surprised him a little. "Shelly joined our camp about two years after the blackout. Bass was a goner the second he saw her. She died in childbirth a little over a year later, in Pennsylvania. What's wrong with him?"

"Listen, he's been in a coma for two weeks and was banged up fairly badly. Best case scenario? He's just a little confused. His brain just needs to catch up with his body," He explained.

Miles leaned up against the wall and crossed his arms. "Okay then. What's the worst case?"

"That those memories are simply gone. I have no way of knowing if he suffered any actual brain damage. I can't exactly give him a CAT-scan. And for that matter, I'm not a neurologist," Gene explained further.

Up until this point, Connor had been silent. "So what do we do?"

"We see if we can get him to remember. If he's just a little confused, it should come back to him pretty quickly," Gene answered.

Miles abruptly pushed himself off the wall and walked towards the door at the end of the hallway. He opened it to find Monroe waiting impatiently. "Hey Bass," he said as he sat in the chair Gene had used.

"Miles, what the hell is going on? Porter said he was going to get Shelly. What happened to me? One minute I'm in our tent, the next I'm waking up here all banged up."

Miles leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Bass, what's the last thing you can remember?"

He closed his eyes and thought back. "You asked me to raid that camp. We argued for it a bit. I went into my tent and Shelly and I talked about names for a while. Then we ate and went to sleep. Then I woke up here." Monroe saw the pained look on Miles' face. "Come on, man. What happened? Did the other camp attack us overnight or something? _Where's Shelly?_"

Miles hesitated for a second. "We're not in Pennsylvania. We're in Texas, about a hundred miles east of Willoughby. Come on. That argument was almost fourteen years ago." He watched Monroe as he spoke. None of it seemed to register.

"Miles, what is the matter with you? I know you're pissed that I don't want to raid our neighbors, but this isn't funny. Joke's over. Now help me up. I've got to get back to camp. I don't like leaving her alone for very long. Not when she's this close," Monroe was starting to get more agitated. He didn't know why Miles was fucking with him like this. It wasn't like him. He could be a dick, sure but he wasn't this childish. He tried to swing his legs out of the bed, but the splint that Gene had used on his leg was making it difficult.

Miles moved to stop him. "Bass, wait. You have to remember. I know you don't like to talk about her, but come on. Shelly died. It's been fourteen years. You know that."

Connor and Charlie came into the room. Connor crossed over to the bed, feeling rather uncomfortable. This whole thing was almost surreal to him. "Dad," he started.

Monroe' eyes flashed to him. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Because he's your son. Yours and Emma's," Miles calmly reminded him.

Monroe stilled. How did Miles know? That was so long ago, over ten years before the blackout. "Listen, Miles. I'm sorry, I didn't… Wait, is that why you're doing all of this? Because you found out about Emma? I wanted to tell you, but –"

Miles cut him off. "No. Bass, this is Connor. He really is your son."

"Dude, that's impossible. Like literally, I doubt I've got ten years on him," Monroe said with a shake of his head. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, and felt claustrophobic. "I've got to go, I've got to get back to camp," he repeated.

"Bass, you're not going anywhere," Miles said, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Shelly is gone, the camp is gone."

"Let me go, Miles. I need to get back to my wife," Monroe began to struggle with them now. With his arm in a sling and a split on his leg, he was really not capable of going anywhere without help, but he fought just the same. "Why are you doing this? What did you do? Let me go!" He thrashed as Miles tried to hold him down on the bed. Connor and Charlie jumped to help him.

Gene came rushing back into the room. He went over to the dresser and dug into his bag, pulling a syringe out. He unscrewed a small bottle and stuck the needle in, drawing some of the liquid out. As he did this, Monroe fought harder. "Stop telling me she's dead!" he yelled at Miles as he fought.

Gene came back over. "Hold him down," he instructed. They did their best to hold Monroe in place while Gene jabbed the needle into Monroe's arm, injecting him quickly. He yanked the needle out before Monroe's struggles broke the damn thing off in his arm. Over the next few minutes Monroe slowly stopped fighting. He blinked his eyes rapidly as his vision began to blur. He tried to stay sitting up, but the drugs Gene has used were too strong and he eventually fell back on the pillow, dazed.

"What did you give him?" Connor demands.

"Morphine – a lot of it. It'll help with his pain and keep him calm. He was going to hurt himself," he explained. "He'll be out of it for a while."

Gene led them out of the room and down the stairs into the kitchen where Rachel, Aaron and Priscilla were waiting. Aaron was bent over the wood burning stove working on throwing things in a pot for their next meal. Priscilla was just standing in the corner, watching. This was all she ever seemed to do and the others found it unnerving. Rachel sat at the table, pale and angry. When Monroe had mentioned Ben, it had set her off. She could not believe that he would hit her so low.

Gene and Miles joined her at the table. Charlie went to help Aaron as Connor leaned in the doorway, not exactly sure what to do with himself. His only true link to these people was upstairs with no memory of him. Well, there was Charlie, but seeing as how their fling had pretty much ended when she found out about their plans for getting the republic back, he wasn't counting her.

"So what are we looking at here, Gene?" Miles finally asked.

"What happened upstairs wasn't the result of being a little foggy from a bump on the head. He's got some form of retrograde amnesia, but as far as how severe, well your guess is as good as mine."

Rachel whipped her head to look at her father. "He's lying. I don't know what his angle is, but he's lying. I know it."

"Rachel," Gene began before she cut him off.

"No. He's got to be faking it. Criminals used to fake it all the time to get off on the insanity plea," She argued.

Miles reached out and took her hands in his. "Rachel, I'm telling you. I've known that man since I was four years old. He's not faking it."

Charlie just listened as she helped Aaron, cleaning up a few rabbits they'd caught earlier in the day to stick in the pot with the vegetables he'd already added. She agreed with Miles. She didn't see how Monroe could be faking. His panic and confusion (and, when she thought about it, fear) had been too real. The coldness that he normally displayed was gone. She'd seen him attempt to be charming before, and he typically pulled it off, but even then there was always an underlying hardness that never left him. It had today, which was a fact that she found mildly disturbing. "So what do we do with him now?" she finally asked. "I mean, my guys are dead; most of his probably are too. None of them came back to the safe house before we left. We need him to fight."

"Oh, he'll still be able to fight," Gene said. "From what little I know about amnesia patients, they usually keep any skills they've learned. Things like that are stored in a different part of the brain. He might not know how he knows how to use a sword, but he'll know how to."

"He won't though," Miles spoke up. "That man up there is not General Monroe. He's Bass. He may know how to kill, but Bass won't do it unless he has to."

"What are you talking about?" Rachel asked, clearly confused. "Memory loss or not, he's still a killer, a monster. He killed people before the blackout; he was a Marine for Christsake!" She refused to see him in any other light. This was the man that killed her husband and child. In her mind, just because he couldn't remember it right now didn't mean that she couldn't.

"That was different Rachel, and you know it. But you didn't see him turn into a killer. Back then, he wasn't," Miles protested. "And you knew him before the blackout. You were friends."

Gene opened open the old notebook and started writing. "I don't know if he will get any of his memories back. Some people do, some don't. Sometimes it takes weeks, sometimes years. Older memories will be easier than newer ones. But either way, he's going to need help. It would be helpful if we knew what he's forgotten. You're the only one that knows a lot of it."

Miles got up and went left the room, coming back a few minutes later with flask in hand. He'd never told Rachel or Charlie how the Monroe Republic got started. The only other person who'd known was Nora, and she was long dead. Taking a drink he started to explain how Monroe went from a happy father-to-be to the psycho they all knew so well.

Two hours later, after he'd finished his story with the failed assassination attempt, silence reigned. "So there you have it. He's the way he is because I pushed him and helped make him that way. I started it all."

Charlie looked up from her half eaten bowl of stew. She'd lost her appetite somewhere between the Trenton Campaign and Miles having convinced Monroe that beating Georgia was a priority and her mother in turn the best way to make that happen. She pushed away from the table and went to clean up. There was still stew left, and they couldn't afford to waste it. She rifled through the cabinets and found an old plastic container with a lid to match. "So we're supposed to try to get him to remember all of that?" She said as she worked.

Gene pinched the bridge of his nose. All of this was starting to make his head hurt. "One thing at a time. He won't remember anything if he doesn't even know what year it is. Most amnesia patients are at least eventually aware that they have it." He stood up and went to leave the room. "I think we should avoid talking about the republic itself for now."

"What? So we're just going to let him live his life not knowing what he's done?" Rachel could not believe her ears.

Gene stopped. He shared his daughter's animosity but the man was officially a patient. They could go back to hating him later. "Rachel, I mean it. It will be hard enough trying to get him to accept that he lost his family and that Ben and Danny are dead, even if he can't remember it. Harder still to convince him that he's lost fourteen years of memories. You start going on about that he was the one that did it, and you'll only make things worse."

Charlie sat in the chair, taking her turn watching over him. He'd woken up earlier in the evening. After bringing him something to eat, Miles had spoken with him again, ending in the same results as before. That had been four hours ago. Charlie wondered if a part of Monroe remembered that Miles had betrayed him, because he seemed almost afraid of him, or at the very least very mistrustful. She had been instructed to go get Gene or Miles if he woke up, but she had already decided to ignore that command.

She sat flipping through Gene's notes on Monroe's life when he began to stir. She set the notebook aside and picked up a glass of water. As he slowly came to, she helped him sit up and brought the glass to his lips. He was groggy but the morphine had left him thirsty. He accepted her aid and drank greedily. The water helped to clear his head enough to look up at the person assisting him now. In the dim lantern light, he could see her features clearly enough to see that she was vaguely familiar to him.

"Easy, Monroe," she said as she helped him lean back up against the pillow, before handing the glass back to him. "Too fast and the morphine will make you puke it back up."

"Why do you call me that? No one's called me that since we went AWOL. Who are you?"

She hesitated. "Charlie, remember? Ben and Rachel's daughter." She waited, silently praying he wouldn't respond the way he had before.

Instead, he laughed. "Nice try. Charlie's like eight or something. Who are you really?"

She hesitated for a second. How could she get him to understand? She remembered what her grandfather had said. If he didn't accept that those years were lost to him, he'd never remember anything. She walked over to the dresser and picked up a cracked mirror. Returning to the chair she sat down as she handed him the mirror.

He studied his face for several minutes. He almost didn't recognize the man staring back at him. It was him to be sure, but the face was so different. He looked like hell. Underneath the fading bruises, he could see the crow's feet that had formed in the corners of his eyes. He had a few faint scars that he didn't recall having that had obviously faded with time. This was not the face of a thirty-three year old man, and as much as he didn't want to believe it there was no denying it.

"You were all telling the truth," he murmured. Examining his face again he tried to take it all in. "I- I need to talk to Miles." His voice was resigned, sad almost.

Charlie nodded, feeling horrible for him. He was about to learn that his entire life had turned to crap. She went down the hall to the room Miles was sharing with her mother. She knocked quietly and waited. Rachel opened the door a few moments later. "He's up. And he needs Miles," was all she said before turning away to find her own bed.

That night Charlie tried to sleep. But, through the wall that separated her room from Monroe's she could hear the sounds of a man grieving. She wasn't exactly sure what Miles had been telling him, but she had a feeling it at least included the deaths of his wife and child. She listened for what seemed hours before his sobs finally subsided. It was almost dawn when Charlie had finally been able to put his misery out of her mind and drift off.


	2. Fighting the Mist

**A/N: This was a hard chapter to write, and it kept trying to get away from me. I know where he's going to end up, but I had to get him from one place to the next, which was a lot harder than I thought. So, I'm hoping that I haven't lost you all by the time you get to the bottom of this chapter. Not a whole lot happening, just a lot of interactions. I felt he needed to interact with everyone one on one a little (except Aaron, but don't worry, there will be a few interesting things to come with Aaron later). There is a Charlo-esque moment towards the end with a reveal. MORE NOTES AT END **

Monroe woke up alone to the sun's first rays. His instincts had him reaching for his wife, only to find himself alone. He sat up in a panic, only to remember the events of the previous day. She was gone – dead and buried over a thousand miles away with the child that never was. He had another son that he could not remember – the result of one mistaken night when he was basically still a child himself. That son's mother had been the first woman he'd ever loved. She'd also been the first woman Miles had ever loved. He'd spent so many years trying to forget that betrayal it was surreal that it was now out in the open.

He'd seen the underlying anger in Miles' eyes when he'd been told that Emma had died over a year ago. He'd asked Miles how, but he'd evaded the question. He felt lost in a sea of confusion. A lot can happen in fourteen years, and apparently a lot had. He'd yet to be told why Danny and Ben were not here. He hadn't seen Ben since his family's funeral all those years ago. And while he'd never been as close to him as he had been to Miles, he was still family. Rachel was still family.

Rachel – that was another source of confusion. If looks could kill, the one she'd given him yesterday would have vaporized him on the spot. He'd asked Miles about that but was evaded yet again. He closed his eyes to fight back the tears that threatened. His body ached and his head pounded. When the door opened he turned away to hide his grief from the intrusion.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Porter asked as he entered the room.

Monroe chuckled in spite of himself. The ultimate shitty question. "All things considered? I feel like shit, thanks for asking," he said flatly.

Gene began to check his vitals, and as always wrote things down in the notebook. Done with this part of his exam, the doctor sat down and waited for Monroe to look at him. After allowing silence to reign for quite a while, Monroe realized that Porter would not leave until they'd talked. Resigned, he turned his head to regard Porter with a sigh.

Gene had to hide his smile. Memory or not, Monroe was one stubborn son of a bitch. "How's your head?" he asked.

"Shitty. Fucked," was all Monroe replied. Porter may be forcing him to cooperate, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Childish? Of course it was, but he figured after what he was going through, he was allowed a few moments of childish behavior.

Another scribble in the notebook. "Have you remembered anything at all?" He knew damn well what Monroe was doing. He was throwing a pity party and was determined that no one should spoil it.

Monroe shook his head. "Nothing. The only things I know about the past fourteen years are the things that Miles told me last night. I accept the fact that so much time has passed, but I still don't remember any of it." His voice was bitter.

Scribble, scribble again. "These things take time. It hasn't even been a full day," Gene felt sorry for him. Ultimate bad guy or not, Monroe was going through something that no one should have to experience. Despite what Rachel had said during her tantrum the previous afternoon, he knew that Monroe wasn't always the way he was. How devastating to wake up having not a friend in the world and no memory of how your life had gotten that way.

"So how long am I stuck in this bed for?" Monroe asked as he shifted uncomfortably. He knew already that he'd go stir crazy being stuck alone in bed all the time.

"A few weeks, maybe more. Your breaks weren't all that bad. You were lucky in that. They were clean breaks, which is saying something. We're just kind of limited here. I can't make a cast, which would help you to get around. You're just going to have to tough it out for a while longer." Gene stood and went over to retrieve his bag before leaving.

"I was afraid you'd say that," Monroe muttered to Gene's retreating back.

And thus began three weeks of absolute hell. As the others went about their day, he laid in the "damn bed" (as it was officially named in his mind) alone. Occasionally, Rachel would join her father when he checked the splints, but she remained strangely standoffish and did her best to ignore him. With so few real doctors remaining after the blackout, he had a feeling that her presence was more to learn what she could from him in the practice of what was basically field medicine that any desire to help him.

Miles sat with him for an hour or two in the evenings, quizzing him on random things to see if any of his memories had returned. His demeanor went back and forth between friendly and resentful. This was his best friend, and he couldn't help but feel like there was something wrong between them, but he couldn't fathom what it was. Granted they'd butted heads over the proposed raiding of their neighboring camp, but even that had not caused a rift that he could recall.

Whenever he tried to question Miles about his change in attitude towards their friendship, he'd hesitate before finding some excuse to leave the room. Connor also came by a few times a day to keep him company, but things were strained there as well and he never stayed very long. Conversation between them remained stilted, even though Connor was putting forth an obvious effort. They just didn't seem to have anything really to talk about. He'd accepted that he was older than his mind could account, but he didn't have the memories as any point of reference. He might be 47, but he sure as hell didn't feel like it (okay, maybe his body did, but he refused to admit it). And here sat a grown man that he had to constantly remind himself was his own offspring.

Charlie had at least taken the time to explain that things had been awkward with Connor even before. The knowledge that he hadn't even known Connor that long made his visits more bearable. Anything he asked about him could very well be something he'd never known in the first place, which at least meant that with Connor he wasn't at the same disadvantage that he was with the others.

Charlie's daily visit seemed to be the easiest. He still felt an underlying tension from her, but it was different than it was with Rachel and even Miles. There were still a lot of things that she'd evade when they spoke, but he could tell that when she did it, at least it was without resentment. Instead, she'd get a sad look, and then would quickly change the subject. But at least she didn't punish him for his questions by leaving.

Talking with her was strange because he still had to remind himself that this was the same person as the little girl he'd seen a year before the blackout. But instead of that little girl, a strong and beautiful young woman had taken her place. He had to keep reminding himself of who she was, because despite his recent grief over Shelly, he was still a man and still had eyes. This was increasingly difficult because he swore he caught her staring at him when she thought he wasn't looking.

For the most part she avoided the topic of his memory loss completely. She asked him often about life before the blackout. She seemed to never lose interest in hearing stories of the any escapades of Miles and Bass. It struck him one day that sometimes it felt like she was trying to get to know him, which seemed odd considering he couldn't even remember having known her in the past, so their roles should have been reversed. When it came to any questions about her own past, Charlie was more reluctant. Sometimes he could get her talking about growing up with Danny, but she'd always abruptly stop and change the subject. Charlie had been the one to finally tell him that Danny and Ben had died, but she refused to discuss how or when.

He had been awake for over three weeks when Gene had decided it was time for him to become a little more mobile. Connor and Miles had apparently found a defunct town a few days ride north. They'd scavenged through the empty homes and businesses and come back with several leg braces and a pair of very old crutches. Gene used what they'd brought back to create a soft cast of sorts. He'd been lucky that the break to his femur wasn't near either joint and was a clean break at that. Gene had already told him that this was the best possible scenario if he was going to have a broken leg. The pain had subsided enough for him to hobble around a little and at least wear some pants.

His arm had already been declared healed the day before. The splint had been removed and he'd seen his arm fully for the first time since he'd woken up from the coma. He'd been shocked to find the burned and ghastly flesh on his forearm where he'd once had a tattoo. He and Miles had come up with an "M" symbol as kids to symbolize their friendship. One night while they were quite drunk on leave, they'd gone into a tattoo shop together. Miles had passed out before it was his turn and therefore he'd left unmarked, leaving Monroe as the only one to actually go through with it.

He hadn't said anything to Porter about it, but the sight made him feel sick. What could possibly have happened that sent him trying to erase evidence of that friendship? The way Miles had been treating him was starting to make sense. Apparently at some point, he must have reciprocated whatever bad feelings were between them, or he wouldn't have done this. This was a symbol of the brotherhood they'd shared, and he knew its mutilation was not something he'd do lightly.

He was torn boring solitude of his room and facing the uncomfortable hostility when he was around everyone else. The only person other than Charlie that didn't seem to hold some mystery sin against him was Priscilla. That woman was just down right creepy. She always seemed to have a deranged smile plastered on her face and every time she spoke it was like she was overly excited about something. Other times, she would simply stand of to the side and observe the others interacting.

Unknown to Monroe, Gene had pulled the others aside and told them that since Monroe's body was well on the mend it was time they started telling him more about the past. He'd yet to remember anything, and never would at this rate.

_Five weeks after waking:_

He was sitting on the porch, his leg stretched before him, looking off into the distance at nothing in particular. Just the feeling of being outside brought him some measure of peace. He'd been cooped up for so long; he had been starting to feel like he'd never see the sky again. Miles was sitting on a rickety folding chair, flask in hand as usual. Monroe could tell the weeks of inactivity were starting to grate on him too. "Where are they buried?" He finally asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Miles took a drink, thinking about how he should answer the question. At some point in time, someone had to tell Monroe more about his past. "Not far from where we were camped."

Monroe shifted to look at Miles, sitting sideways along the stop step. "I need to see them. Do you think you can find it? I need to make it real." Miles furrowed his brows as he searched for an answer. When he couldn't find one, he looked away as he took another drink from the flask. "What? Why won't you tell me?" Monroe continued. He was fed up with the silence and he did nothing to hide that fact now.

"Bass, you can't go there now," Miles offered.

"Why?"

Miles made eye contact with him, and after weeks of evading he finally broached the subject of the past. "Because it's in the middle of a fallout zone."

Monroe did a double take. "A What? How - I mean that's impossible. Even if someone wanted to setoff nukes, they'd need power to do it."

Miles looked at Monroe sadly. "The power came on for just a few minutes. Bomb hit Philadelphia. Destroyed the city and now most of New England is probably toast."

"Why would someone want to nuke Philly? It's a ghost town. All the big cities are."

"It wasn't just Philly, it was Atlanta too. They weren't abandoned anymore. The country is kind of divided up in a few new nations. Atlanta was the capital of one and Philly was the capital of another. Texas is its own country. Same goes for Cali. The plains - well, the plains are just one giant mess."

Monroe tried to wrap his head around it all. "So who dropped the bombs?"

Miles explained to him about the Patriots and their role in setting off the nukes. He was careful not to mention their own roles that night. Monroe sat in shock for a while before he spoke. "So old government nuked two cities to take control of the country, and now we're fighting them?"

"More or less," Miles said as he shook his flask with a frown. It was empty, which left him feeling decidedly sad and bereft. "That's what we were doing when you got hurt."

Monroe thought about this for a second. "It just doesn't make sense that the US government would just show up and start bombing its own cities. How do we know that they were the ones that really did it?"

Miles had not wanted to get this far into things, but he seemed to have talked his way into a corner. "It's a long story, Bass. We know because we were there. You, me, Charlie and Rachel. Aaron too."

Monroe closed his eyes and tried to see if he could force up a memory of this. He witnessed the launch of a nuclear weapon? How could anyone forget something like that? For a second, he thought that he almost had something, but it slipped from his grasp and he was left only with a feeling of déjà vu and nothing more. "Miles, I need to know what I've been doing all this time."

Miles stood and stepped over Monroe on the stairs, intent on escaping before he caved. "One thing at a time. It's too complicated and too much to take all at once." He left Monroe on the stairs.

It was very early. The day had been dawning when Monroe first woke. He'd been up most the night staring at the ceiling and thinking about what Miles had told him about the nukes. If they were all there, they must have been involved somehow, but he'd be damned if he could come up with a reason why. He'd been having a nightmare, but for the life of him he couldn't remember anything about it. He was almost about to doze off again when he heard the backdoor open below his room.

Through the open window, he could hear the sound of someone doing their best to throw up quietly. He'd woken up to this sound almost daily since the weather had warmed up enough for him to leave the window open a few weeks ago. It wasn't the most pleasant of wake up call to be sure.

He was beginning to think that someone had a secret they weren't sharing with the rest of their group. He knew Rachel and Miles were sharing a room. Rachel was a bit old, he supposed but it may not be totally impossible. That creepy woman, Priscilla was a bit younger. Maybe her? He got out of bed and hobbled to the window. To his surprise, it was Charlie he saw emerge from the bushes behind the house. _Well isn't that interesting?_ He thought to himself. If he was right, she was obviously not sharing her news. She wouldn't be hiding the fact she was sick otherwise.

Later on that day, he was sitting in on the couch in the front room, flipping through a very old copy of Sports Illustrated when she came into the room. The rest of the household was nowhere to be seen. They'd been in and out of the house all day, leaving him to his own devices. He had a feeling that this was done mostly in avoidance of him.

She'd made it her habit to sit with him daily still, even though he was no longer confined to bed. For the most part, he'd enjoyed the time spent together as a happy break from the tedium and loneliness that his life had become. She seemed a bit off, like she was nervous. He'd watched her carefully and now noticed the subtle differences. She wore a long sleeved shirt over her tank top, presumably since the weather had warmed enough to ditch her jacket. But, she had it buttoned up halfway. And if her breasts weren't bigger, well he wasn't Sebastian Monroe. He'd certainly been a connoisseur of the female form before meeting Shelly (He'd given up trying to convince himself that he hadn't spent a decent amount of time noticing Charlie's breasts when she'd visited his room while he was stuck in bed).

He finally worked up the nerve to say something. "So, are you going to tell your family that you're pregnant or just go on hoping they won't notice?"

Charlie had been looking out the window when he spoke. She whipped her head around and stared at him in shock. Her eyes were wide with fear. "How did -?"

He chuckled. "You're forgetting my wife was pregnant. I know the signs. That and you've been puking below my window for the past two weeks. Don't worry. I won't tell them," he added to reassure her.

Charlie felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She hadn't realized his room was above where she'd been hiding in the mornings. "Thank you," she told him quietly.

"Not that it's any of my business, but who's the father?" Monroe knew he had no right to ask her, but he was curious. He could tell by the looks Connor sent her way that there was something between them, and quite frankly he was sure that his son was the culprit. He was fully expecting her to tell him he was going to be a grandfather. "I mean, you and Connor-"

Charlie cut him off there. "No. God, no. I mean, we had a thing a while back, but there's no way the baby is his." She saw the very subtle look of disappointment on his face. She didn't realize that it had made her flinch.

_What is she hiding?_ He wondered to himself. He noticed her reaction. "Listen, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, it's okay." She began to fiddle with a strand of her hair as she sat. "It's no one you'd know." She noticed the look he gave her at her choice of words. "Sorry, that came out wrong. It was someone I'd met on my way back from Austin a few weeks before we left Willoughby. We went to try to stop the Patriots from killing General Carver. Got separated on our way out of town. I had just lost a friend and was in a bad place. Guess I'm paying for that now."

He sensed there was something she still wasn't telling him, but he decided to let her leave it at that. He had no business pressing her further. "Okay then. You're secret is safe with me." He went back to his magazine. He refused to acknowledge that this was actually one of the most normal conversations he'd had in the past several weeks.

_Eight weeks after waking_

Monroe had finally been cleared to remove the evil contraption Gene had insisted he wear to support his leg. He was finally even able to put some weight on it without a problem. Miles had agreed to the doctor's insistence that they wait another week or two before moving on, just to make sure Monroe was ready to travel. He would do no good to anyone if the bone broke in a fight because he wasn't ready.

In the past three weeks, he'd learned a lot more about the past. What he'd learned had driven him further into his depression. The week before he'd finally gotten fed up with Rachel's hostility. He'd pulled her aside after dinner. "What the hell is your problem? Last time I checked, we were friends? What the hell did I do to piss you off?" She'd tried to walk past him, but he'd blocked her only exit.

She'd narrowed her eyes at him and finally given in. "You want to know what you did? Why I can't stand to be around you? Fine. You killed Danny and Ben."

His jaw had dropped. "What? Why – I don't understand. I've known been my entire life. I would never do anything to hurt him. And Danny? He's just a kid."

Rachel had tears in her eyes. "You don't remember any of it, but you're a fucking monster, Bass. You've killed hundreds of people. Hell, it could even be more than that; thousands maybe between the ones you actually killed with your own hands and the ones that died because of orders you gave. You even got Connor's mom killed, just to hurt Miles." When she pushed passed him a second time, he'd let her go.

At the time he'd just retreated to his room. Deep down, something she'd said had resonated within him. But he couldn't put a finger on what, and it was still missing from his mind. Inside the nightstand he kept a list of the things that people had told him of the past. After wallowing for a while, he'd dug it out and added these new things. He had no way to dispute anything on the list, so he had gotten into the habit of just writing them down as fact, hoping that someday his memory would return and he could either accept or deny the things he'd written there. He'd then read the list before putting it away:

_Shelly is dead_

_I've got a son – Connor Bennett. I just met him recently. His mom is dead._

_Ben and Danny are dead_

_I've been fighting the Patriots with Miles_

_Miles and I aren't friends – Why?_

_Philly and Atlanta are ashes_

_I raided that camp and people got killed because of me_

_I killed Ben and Danny_

_I killed Emma_

_I am apparently a "fucking monster"_

The week that had passed since that night had done little to keep his mind off of what Rachel had said. He now sat alone at the kitchen table. He was alone in the house. The others had all gone for supplies for their impending departure from the safe house. As he got up, he noticed the notebook sitting on the counter. He'd seen Gene writing in this every time he'd talked to him. Curious, he flipped it open.

Most of the stuff in the beginning was just notes about his injuries - vitals and other comments. Apparently, his recent bouts with depression from this ordeal had not gone unnoticed by Gene. He flipped further ahead and found Gene's notes from the night Miles had given them a brief rundown on his history. He read about the Monroe Republic and all of the things he'd done – Rachel's imprisonment and how he'd tricked Miles into thinking she was dead. He'd read about what had led him to the tower and what had happened after he'd gotten there.

As he finished reading about all of his dark and filthy past, he wanted to be sick. So this was what they were hiding from him all of these weeks? And if all of this was true, even harboring him was putting them at greater risk. The whole continent wanted him dead. What was worse, he couldn't really blame them.

He made a decision then. He went up the stairs and began to grab the few things he'd accumulated during their stay. Finished, he went down stairs and pulled a pack and a bedroll out of the closet and started grabbing a few supplies. He was just sliding a full clip into a pistol when Charlie came up behind him. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked him.

He turned to see her leaning in the doorway between the kitchen and hall, her arms crossed casually in front of her chest. "I'm leaving," he said flatly.

"I can see that," she said as she looked him over. "Why?"

He pushed passed her and stalked into the kitchen to grab the notebook. It was still sitting on the counter where he'd left it. He tossed it to her as he walked back to the closet and finished packing. "Here's the CliffsNotes. There'll be a quiz on this Monday morning."

Charlie rolled her eyes at the reference. Monroe and Miles were always saying stuff like that. They knew damn good and well she had no idea what the hell they were talking about, and it always drove her nuts. "So you know. Did it jog your memory any?"

"Nope. Not at all." He zipped up the backpack and went to work strapping on the bedroll.

She placed herself between him and the front door. She was not letting him just walk out of there. "Then why are you leaving? General Monroe wasn't the running type, and neither are you."

He grabbed his jacket and slung the backpack on his shoulder. "I can't stay with you all. I get it. Every one of you has a reason to hate me. And if I'm as wanted as you say, I'll only get you killed anyway."

"We need you in this fight," she argued.

He sighed as he tried to reach around her to open the door. "No, you don't. I can't remember being that person. I don't feel like him, but that's what everyone sees. If I was as nuts as you all say, then you don't need that."

She reached out and touched his arm. "You're right. General Monroe is not what we need. He was psychotic. And, up until a few weeks before you got hurt, if anyone had asked me, I'd have told them that you still were, especially after we found out you and Connor were going to try to get the Monroe Republic back."

"Well there you go. All the more reason for me to leave." His voice cracked.

"But then a few weeks before you got hurt, I saw another side of you. One that you tried so hard to hide from the rest of the world. You weren't the monster I thought you were. I think you were just terrified someone would see the better side of you." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He clenched his jaw and did his best to ignore the way her hand felt on his arm as she gently tried to push him away from the door. He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It's too late."

Before Charlie could do anything else to stop him, he was out the door and gone. She considered trying to stop him again, but she knew it wouldn't do any good. So later, when Miles and Gene suggested she track him, she lied and said she'd tried but hadn't been able to.

**MORE A/N: Okay, so yes, I know there are a few Preggo Charlie story lines out there. I promise to do my best to not make it repetitive. (But lets face it, there are only so many ways we can have Charlie and Monroe interact and there are a lot of Charloe fics out there. ) I promise that it will not end with "oh, yay a baby and lets sing about rainbows and puppies" when we're done. **


	3. Fleeing Darkness

**A/N: This is actually the first chapter I wrote for this story. I don't know why but the idea kind of stuck with me, so I wrote the front end and the back end to go around it. And yes, so sue me.. There's a bit with a dog. The only time I can remember seeing a dog in the entire series was the one that bit Maggie in the amusement park in season 1. I always kind of wondered why none of the characters had one, so I decided there should be a dog in one of these here fanfics. I hope you enjoy! All Questions, comments, concerns, luvs and criticism are appreciated!**

Monroe sat slouched at the bar in another small town, praying for anonymity as he brought his glass to his lips. The whiskey was surprisingly smooth, reminding him of better days; days when whiskey was paid for with paper instead of diamonds or gold. But then again, this was Kentucky. This was bourbon country.

His journey east had followed a simple and depressing pattern. He'd find a Patriot-free town and come up with an alias. He'd find some type of work. He'd try to keep his head down. No matter where he went however, it always ended the same way. Someone would recognize him. He always denied his true identity, but it always ended in him making a quick getaway, shedding as little blood as possible. But people always seemed to get hurt in the process. Sometimes it took a few days and he managed to get paid, but it always happened in the end.

A lynch mob would always come, condemning him for a criminal past that he could not remember. They just didn't understand that the many they sought to punish had disappeared with the toss of a Patriot grenade in Texas a little over four months ago.

He was running out of diamonds from his last odd job, and the weather would be turning before he knew it. He needed to find a place to settle down. Work would be harder to find once winter set in. And he had no desire to wander from town to town in the cold. Already his leg bothered him. He could only imagine how much worse it would get when the temperature dropped. Walking for days on end after breaking a femur wasn't exactly conducive to the healing process. He'd only been on the road a few days when it came to mind he should have waited a few more weeks before taking off. It wouldn't have made much of a difference.

In the last town he'd lasted almost two weeks, the longest by far. In the end, he'd managed to escape with his life, his pack and only half of his pay. This town seemed to hold more promise. It was smaller and off the beaten path a little. There would be no reason for the Patriots to come here. Despite how widespread they were, their numbers were low enough for now to prevent them from saturating every settlement.

He contemplated this as he ordered a second glass of whiskey. He barely had a chance to taste it when a man sat down at the bar next to him. The man glanced his way as he ordered a drink. Monroe nodded at him nonchalantly before turning back to his own. _Here it comes_, he thought as the man whipped his head back to get a second look.

"Hey, I know you. You're Sebastian Monroe!" The man said as he grabbed Monroe by the shoulder.

"Excuse me?" Monroe tried to appear confused, although his heart was pounding in his chest.

The man's face contorted into a sneer. "You've got a lot of nerve coming in here," he snarled.

"I'm not who you think I am," Monroe replied.

"Hey, Johnathon! Go get the sheriff," the man called out to a group of men sitting at one of the tables.

Monroe stood slowly and dug into his pocket for a few diamonds, setting them down on the bar. "Listen, I don't want any trouble. I'll pay and go." He abandoned his whiskey at the bar and turned to leave. On his way out the door, he heard the sound of several people getting up to follow him. Instinct kicked in and he ducked at the last second to avoid a fist, but was bum rushed out the door all the same. He struggled with the four men that had come to subdue him in the street. Arms held him from behind. His pack had been ripped from him and tossed into the dirt.

Down the street a ways, a figure abruptly turned and started heading in their direction. Monroe looked around the street, trying to think up some avenue of escape. As he did, he briefly made eye contact with an elderly man that watched with interest from the bench of a wagon across the street.

The man that approached was obviously the town sheriff. "Now what's going on here?" he asked. His stern voice gave Monroe's accusers pause. They loosened their hold on him so that he was able to shrug out of their grip.

"Bob, this here is Sebastian Monroe," his original accuser bit out. "Tried to get away, he did."

Monroe denied this swiftly as the sheriff narrowed his eyes at him. "Well maybe you are n' maybe you're not. You sure look an awful lot like him," Bob began.

"Yeah, I get that a lot," Monroe said under his breath.

The look Sheriff Bob's face suggested that he had no tolerance for Monroe's smart mouth. "If you're not him, then what's your name, mister?"

Monroe's mind raced for a name as he opened his mouth to answer. Before he could get a word out, a voice from across the street interrupted him. "Michael, what are you doin' in town? I thought I told you to fix that damn fence 'fore the goats got out again."

Monroe and the Sheriff both turned towards the voice. The old man from the wagon he'd seen just a few minutes earlier hobbled his way across the street. "You know this man, Daniel?" Bob asked as he stepped aside to let the elderly farmer draw closer.

"'Course I do. That's my sister Ella's boy. Come down from Somerset to help me on the farm. Been stayin' with me for a week," he lied easily.

"I don't care who he told you he was, old man. But I'm telling you that's Monroe," the barfly insisted.

Bob looked from Daniel and back to Monroe again. "You sure about that, Daniel?" The sheriff was quite obviously not convinced.

"You accusing me of being a liar, Robert Beecher?" Daniel challenged.

The sheriff sighed. He felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. Daniel Forrester was well respected by most of the residents in the area. If he said this stranger was family, there were very few in town that would second guess him (with an exception for this handful of drunks). But, he couldn't exactly ignore the possibility that a notorious war criminal stood before him. Especially since said war criminal had supposedly been the one to bomb their capital city. There was more than local that had lost a loved one when Atlanta had been nuked. "No, Daniel. I know you're no liar. But maybe he just tricked you."

"I've known you since you were in diapers, boy. Since when have you ever known me to be a fool?" The old man snapped. The sheriff shook his head, looking a little embarrassed. "I know my own nephew when I see him."

The sheriff tried one last time to straighten this mess out. "Well, what's he doing in town and why haven't we seen him around before now?"

Monroe had to give the old man credit. He was good. "I already told you, he come down from Somerset. Came to help me with the farm since his momma died last year and that bastard she married few years back done sold her property off out from under him. He's good help – when he's sober. Not too bright though." Monroe had to grit his teeth to stop himself from protesting that insult. "We've been busy at the farm, harvest will be here sooner than you think. Hell, I haven't even been to town for two weeks myself. Maybe if these boys here spent more time looking to their own, they'd be less preoccupied with what's going on with mine."

That seemed to convince Sheriff Bob, even if the others were a little less trusting. Monroe could tell that other than the original barfly that had started this mess, the others were reluctant to contradict the old man in public. 'Well, you heard him," the sheriff finally said. "That's settled. Now leave the man alone." He turned to Monroe and held a hand out. "Sorry about that, Mister. Can't be too careful with strangers these days."

Monroe shook his hand, and shoved his resentment aside. He was almost out of this mess, no sense in making an enemy. "No hard feelings, Sheriff."

The sheriff stood there until the four barflies slowly made their way back into the bar. With a nod, he then turned and headed back down the street. Monroe waited until they were all out of sight before he went over to retrieve his discarded backpack. "Well are you coming or not, Mr. Monroe?" His savior said quietly as he walked back over to his wagon. With a shrug, Monroe followed him. What else could he do?

He waited until the wagon was well out of town before he finally spoke. "You know who I really am?"

"Uh yuh," Daniel grunted in response.

Monroe didn't know whether to be grateful or suspicious. "And you're still helping me?"

"Uh yuh," he said again.

"Well you have to know there's a bounty on my head. Why not just turn me in and collect it?" Monroe couldn't quite accept that when the people he considered to be basically family hated him, this stranger would stick his neck out for no reason.

The old man pulled the wagon to a stop and looked at him. "I'm seventy-six years old. I've no close family left. What am I gonna do with that reward money? Got no one to leave it to, and I do well enough on my own." He pulled out a plug of tobacco and took a bite off before getting the horse going again. After a few minutes, he started again. "I saw you before once. You were passing through on your way out west somewhere. You and your men set up camp near my fields. I don't know where you were going or why you'd come into the Federation, but you were trying to get by unseen for sure."

"How long ago was that?" The man had him curious.

"Been a while. Maybe seven, eight years back. I was curious, so I spied on youins a bit. I saw enough of you to get an impression though. I don't know what it is exactly, but I know even if you're the same person, you ain't the same man. Saw it in your eyes when you got rustled out that bar." Daniel turned his attention back to driving the wagon.

Monroe watched the countryside pass them by for a while before he spoke again. "I don't have any memory of it," he said quietly.

The old man chuckled a bit. "Didn't suspect you would. I'm sure you passed this way more than people realized. Why remember one trip years ago?"

Monroe rubbed his face, suddenly feeling very tired. "No, I mean any of it. Something happened to me a while back." He paused for a second. He wasn't sure how much he should reveal to this man. In the end, he decided to be honest. If he'd wanted to turn him in, he wouldn't have lied to the men in town. "I was apparently fighting the Patriots in Texas and got caught in a grenade blast. Got banged up pretty bad. When I woke up, I had no memory of the Republic. I've lost fourteen years of my life. I know the things I've done. Well, I've been told most of it anyway. But I can't remember doing any of it."

Daniel didn't respond, and so they went on in silence for a few more hours. They finally arrived at the farm as the sun began to set. Monroe stopped him before they got off the wagon. "You've got to believe me, I didn't drop those bombs." He didn't know why it was so important for this old man to believe him. It just was.

Daniel sighed and looked him in the eyes. "I didn't suspect you did. Even if you were dumb enough to bomb Atlanta, you'd have to be some kind of stupid and crazy to bomb your own city. You done some terrible things, and rumors were you'd lost your mind, but no one is that crazy. And for all her pretty speeches and politics, Kelly Foster wasn't smart enough to figure out how to drop them either. I always figured the ones that done it were the ones that blamed you in the first place."

Relief washed over Monroe in that moment. "So you have no love of these Patriots either?"

Daniel smiled now. "It's just like I told Bob. I'm no fool. I heard their story when they come through these parts. Said that you and Georgia flushed them out to Cuba. Well, my own boy served and died for Georgia, so I remember very well that it was darn near four of five years after the lights gone out before any of you idiots really started shootin' each other up. The government was long gone by then." He climbed down from the wagon and started to unhitch the horse. "Seems to me people's memories ain't what they used to be."

Monroe jumped down and took over the task. "I can do that," he offered. He let Daniel lead him to the stable and started to tend to the animal.

As he went about the task of removing the saddle and rubbing the horse down, Daniel watched with approval. "You ever worked a farm before?"

Monroe hung up the saddle and tack before leading the horse to an empty stall. "My grandparents had a small place in Indiana when I was a kid. Nothing special. A few cows and chickens, couple acres and an orchard. Miles and I spent a few summers helping out. It's obviously been a while, but I can get by."

Monroe looked around and found the feed bin. He fed the one they'd just used before checking on the other stalls. He was surprised that the man owned quite a few horses. He wondered idly if he bred them here. The old man continued to watch him. "You'll do. I'm offering you three square and a safe place to rest your head. Even put a few diamonds in your pocket if you last through the harvest."

Finished with feeding, Monroe picked up a bucket and made his way outside of the stable to the pump he'd seen outside. Returning, he dumped it in the water bin inside one of the stalls. He stopped in front of Daniel before heading back out for more. "I still don't understand why you're helping me, but thank you."

"Everyone deserves a second chance, if they really want one. Even you. That's all I'm offering. That and I'm getting too old to handle this place alone." Monroe nodded and went back to the task at hand of watering the horses.

As one day melted into another, Monroe fell into his new life peacefully. It was hard work and the hours were long, but he found himself quickly enjoying it. Little by little he stopped worrying about recovering the past. The past was full of blood and death and loss. This was better. He was doing something, helping someone out and no one expected anything in return other than the work itself.

The farm was quite large and for the most part self-sustaining. Daniel grew several types of grains: corn, wheat and barley. He also had a field reserved for tobacco, which still fetched a fair price in diamonds and trade. He also grew quite a few different varieties of vegetables. Most of these were canned for his own use throughout the leaner months but he did trade the surplus for supplies in town.

There were a few chickens and pigs that Daniel also kept for personal use. In between harvests, Daniel supplemented his income with a small dairy. It wasn't anything special, just a half dozen cows and a small herd of goats. When he'd asked Daniel about the goats, the old man explained that his late wife had a taste for goat cheese. Since the blackout cutoff their local grocers supply, he'd traded for the goats so he could make it for her. He'd kept them after she'd passed since the cheese usually sold well.

Monroe soon found out that Daniel had not been lying about the goats. The lone billy in the herd would be his greatest nemesis. The rotten creature was constantly looking for ways to escape and often took his little harem with him. This usually consisted of kicking boards out of the fence that separated their enclosure from the corn.

Monroe's suspicions about the horses had proved partially correct. Daniel dabbled in breeding them as a hobby more than anything. Every so often he'd get a good one that fetched a decent price, but for the most part he let the foals go cheaply to his neighbors.

There were a handful of kids from neighboring farms and in town that came to help with some of the lighter chores around the farm. They came from some of the more needy families in the area. In exchange for their help, Daniel made sure their families didn't starve. Most of what Monroe did while they were waiting for the harvest was see to needed repairs around the farm and tend to the larger animals.

He'd been out in one of the corn fields about a week after arriving when he heard a low whine coming from the other side of the field. Curious, he went to investigate. He finally came across a dog laying amongst the cornstalks, licking at its side. The animal was a black and white border collie, and looked to be not quite full grown and poorly cared for. Purebred dogs were hard to come by so he was surprised to find one in such bad condition.

He approached the animal cautiously. "Easy now. I'm not going to hurt you," he crooned as he slowly got closer. He was only a few feet away when the dog started to growl and show its teeth. Monroe stopped and looked at the dog for a second. He had no desire to get bitten by an unknown animal. Rabies had been rare before the blackout but it had been making a swift comeback without vaccines. Backed up quite a ways, and when he was confident the dog wasn't going to go after him he turned to go back the way he came. "Fine, be that way," he muttered under his breath. He'd made it a few more yards further before the dog whined again.

"Dammit," he said as he did an about face and went back over to it. The dog now wagged its tail, as if in apology. Monroe crouched down next to it and examined the wound on its side carefully. It looked like someone had shot it. He couldn't very well leave it here, and he wasn't inclined to finish what the bullet had failed to do. With a sigh, he picked the dog up and headed back towards the farmhouse. As he walked, the dog lifted his head and gave him a lick. Another apology, he supposed. "It's okay. I'm a dick when I'm hurt too," he said soothingly.

Daniel was just heading back in from the barn when Monroe got back to the farmhouse. "What you got there?" he asked.

"Found a dog in one of the fields. Looks like someone shot him," he said as he walked up the stairs to the porch.

"Well, take him on in, I guess. Let's take a look," Daniel said as he opened the screen door for him.

Daniel and Monroe both worked on getting the bullet out. It turned out to be a .22. "Dog's lucky someone was just takin' potshots," the old man observed as Monroe stitched the animal up. "Damn drunk teenagers."

The dog, which Monroe later named Brodie was up and around within a few days. He was another mouth to feed, but they had plenty and he was good company. And at least was relatively easy to housebreak. Within a week, Brodie took to following Monroe around the farm, having grown fully attached to his rescuer. Of course, Monroe did his best to appear outwardly annoyed with having a second shadow. Secretly though, he had to admit to himself that he liked having the dog around. He didn't feel quite so alone.


	4. A light shines through

**A/N: Ok, the real notes are at the end. I didn't want to give too much away.**

It had been ten weeks since he'd shirked the name Sebastian Monroe and had taken up the identity of Michael Andrews. Because of the incident when he'd first arrived, he rarely went into town. When it was unavoidable, he'd kept to himself as much as possible and had never again stepped foot in the local bar. On occasion the patriots had passed through and being seen was the last thing he wanted, nor did he want to refresh any accusations in the minds of the locals. By some miracle, the men who had initially tried to have him arrested had not mentioned his presence to anyone in tan – yet. For that, Monroe was grateful.

The last harvest was finally in, and true to his word, Daniel had paid him well for it. Monroe now had enough to last through the winter in case he decided to move on. He knew leaving would be safer for both himself and Daniel. It was only a matter of time before someone learned of his presence here, but he wasn't ready to leave yet.

Of course, he tried to deny that his reasons for staying on had anything to do with his attachment to the farm and its owner. Instead he convinced himself the reason he stayed was because Daniel needed him here. The man was pushing eighty and had no business going out in the cold to tend the animals. Not when Monroe was around and could do it for him. And they got on well together. Daniel's gruff bluntness rivaled Monroe's own. The way he went about life with no tolerance for nonsense always seemed to put Monroe at ease. There were no hidden agendas or concealed resentments. And after spending those months with the Mathesons with so much thinly veiled hatred, it was a comfort to know exactly where he stood and why.

In the evenings, Daniel was content to share his bourbon (and the man could make some good bourbon) and talk about the past, and simply let Monroe listen. Monroe suspected he was just happy for the company and the chance to talk about his life's story, to pass it on to someone. And in all honesty, he really didn't mind. The man had led an interesting if not simple life. He'd taken life's ups and downs in a way that Monroe could only admire. There were no regrets, no resentments. To Daniel, things just were.

He'd adapted to the blackout in a way that just demanded respect. Where others had panicked and faltered, they'd just adapted. Daniel had told him that they'd always spared a few acres for more traditional farming methods. It was extra work, but it had also brought a small trickle of tourists eager to see how the land used to be farmed long ago. That and he admitted that he just damn well enjoyed it. The knowledge and equipment had proved vital to keeping the farm up and running at full capacity when their combines and tractors would no longer function. He'd always kept a variety of livestock, even if the numbers were small. It had been done more out of tradition and for the benefit of tourists than profit, but this too had helped him to prosper later.

More than once his farm had helped to save a good portion of the surrounding community from starvation in the years that had passed since the blackout. In return, he'd kept the admiration and respect of most of his neighbors and was able to get the help he needed during spring planting and the fall harvest to get the most out of his fields. It had only been in the last few years that he found himself relying specifically on that help.

He'd married for the first time when he was not much younger than Monroe was now. His marriage had produced two sons. His younger son had signed up with Georgia's army the first chance he got, while his older son had stayed on to continue helping with the farm.

When the blackout hit, they'd had a full staff of ten farmhands. Slowly their number had dwindled. Some joined the army when things escalated between Georgia and the Republic. A few had gone off to start their own farms when free land became plentiful. The last two had died along with Daniel's oldest son four years ago when influenza had hit the area hard. His wife had died the previous winter. His youngest son had been in killed in battle in Virginia. Daniel's daughter-in-law and granddaughters had still been in Atlanta when the bombs dropped.

Monroe had once asked Daniel why he didn't hold his son's death against him. The old man had simply replied that he'd always felt that Monroe and Foster were both to blame. He could see why Monroe wanted Virginia. It all came down to food. The growing season was shorter up north and the population higher. "Never understood why the two of you never got your heads out your asses and tried to work together though," he'd said.

It was almost ironic that they were both alone in the world, but had dealt with it so differently. Monroe remembered how low he'd gotten when his parents and sisters were killed. He hadn't been able to cope with that loss, and it had continued to haunt him until he'd met Shelly. Even though he couldn't remember, he knew from what he'd learned in that damned notebook that he'd handled the loss of Shelly and the baby no better. Quite frankly it didn't surprise him. But Daniel had just carried on, and a part of Monroe envied him that.

Monroe had long since made peace with the fact that he was never going to recover his past, and had finally admitted to himself that he didn't want to. The loss of his friendship with Miles still hurt, but he'd accepted it. One a particularly shitty day, over a glass of whiskey Daniel had told him to stop being an ass and just move on. From that night on, he'd been determined to do just that. So he'd thrown himself in to his work here. During his recovery, he'd lost quite a bit of weight and muscle mass from the inactivity. After ten weeks of hard labor on the farm, he'd regained what he'd lost and then some. Despite everything, he was probably in the best physical condition in his life (and if his body ached a little at the end of the day, so be it). And surprisingly enough, he was content here.

He was repairing a fence in one of the fields, cursing the goat under his breath. Weeks ago, he'd decided to name the animal Dickhead. It just seemed to fit. This time Dickhead had decided to kick out several sections of the fence before making his actual escape. It was here that the comfortable world he'd made for himself would slowly cave in around him.

The dog he'd rescued panted lazily a few feet away as Monroe finished prying off the remnants of the broken board in this section of the fence. Out of nowhere, the dog stood up and let out a low, whining growl. Monroe looked up and saw too figures approaching from the dirt road that bordered the field. He'd found it odd, because the only time he'd ever heard the animal growl was when he'd first found him.

He watched them approach warily as he went back to work. The sense of foreboding he'd felt when he'd first seen them steadily increased as the distance between them waned. He kept his head down when he realized who it was that approached. They must have recognized him, because their pace increased.

The dog growled again and then whined as he rose and got in between Monroe and the intruders. He placed his paws on the fence, and looked up as if looking for reassurance. "Down Brodie," he said quietly. "They're friends – sort of." The dog cocked its head as if thinking about the command before it obeyed. Returning his paws to the ground the dog went to lie back down, albeit closer to Monroe.

"Monroe?" Aaron Pittman said as he finally reached him. 'What are you doing here?"

Monroe had finished removing the broken board, and was now straddling the fence to hold the new one in place with his knees as he began the process of nailing it in place. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm fixing a fence."

"Um, why?" Aaron asked.

Monroe looked up from his task. "Because it's broken. Why else would I be fixing it?" He gave Aaron a look that showed him just how stupid he thought the question was.

Aaron and Priscilla watched him for several minutes. Finished, Monroe jumped down and tested the board before he picked up his tools and headed towards the next broken section of the fence. "The question is what are _you _doing here?" He finally asked as he began to rip the nails out of the next piece.

"Looking for you," Priscilla said in that strange way she always seemed to have about her.

_Yep, she's still creepy, _Monroe thought to himself. "And why would you be doing that? I think it's fairly clear that I'm a monster and a bastard. You all have no use for me, even if I can't remember."

Feeling useless, Aaron reached out to hold the next board in place as Monroe started to secure it. "So you haven't gotten any of your memories back?"

"Nope," he said curtly as he dug another nail out of his shirt pocket and started hammering it in.

"Well it doesn't matter. We've come to bring you back. Well, not exactly back. We've moved on – to Louisiana," Aaron explained.

"Why?"

Their task completed, Monroe retrieved the broken boards for firewood. He let out a shrill whistle and Brodie jumped up and began to follow as Monroe led Aaron and Priscilla back towards the house. Aaron found himself out of breath trying to match Monroe's pace. He found himself hating how fast the man walked. "Because you're needed."

They reached the end of the field and were almost to the yard surrounding the house and outbuildings. "No, I'm not. I'm happy here. Why can't you just go away and let me be?" He stomped across the yard to the house, leaving Aaron to stare for a few minutes before he got himself moving again. As he followed, the dog raced past them both and leaped onto the porch.

Daniel had come out of the house, wiping his hands on a towel. He'd just finished making lunch and had just been about to ring the bell to let Monroe know. "Friends of yours, Michael?" He asked cautiously as he saw the visitors.

Monroe dropped the boards by the woodpile and set the tools on the porch before walking to the pump to wash the grime from his hands. "Daniel, meet Beardy McGee and his very creepy girlfriend," He gestured towards them as he grabbed the towel from Daniel to dry off. "They know who I am, so we can drop the alias," he said as he went inside the house with Brodie hot on his heels.

The old man considered them for a second. He agreed that there was something off about the woman, but the portly man before him seemed harmless enough. "Well come on inside then. Hungry?" He held the screen door open for them. After eating in relative silence, Daniel ushered them all into the living room. He had a feeling that his new farmhand would be leaving very soon.

Settled, Monroe and Aaron stared each other down for quite a while. "Listen Monroe, we came because it's important," Aaron began.

"Can't you just leave it?" Monroe cut him off. He didn't want to hear it. He'd let it all go, and now here they were insisting on undoing all of that.

Priscilla had been staring at him strangely ever since she'd stepped foot in the house. The longer her eyes bore into him, the more uncomfortable he became. "Maybe it's time that he remembered," she said cryptically.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Aaron leaned forward on his seat. "Rachel never told you how the blackout happened. You knew before that she helped cause it, but she'd never explained to you the science behind it."

Interested despite is increasing unease, Monroe leaned in. He couldn't help to be curious. "How do you know about it?"

Aaron spent the next several minutes explaining about the nanotech – how it worked and how it had caused the blackout. He then went on to explain what exactly had happened at the tower, leaving nothing out.

"So these invisible little robots are everywhere, can read our thoughts and are basically alive? You really expect me to believe that?" He couldn't help but laugh. It was beyond ridiculous.

Priscilla got off the loveseat and knelt in front of him. Brodie jumped up and approached with a growl. Daniel reached out and grabbed him by the leather strap that served as a collar. "Your brain was broken. Your memories are not there. We can fix the parts that don't work right," her voice was creepier than normal.

Monroe started to rise. Something about the way that she was staring at him now truly terrified him. Before he could move, her hands reached up and grabbed his head with unexpected strength. "This will hurt," she said as she held him there.

After several minutes she released him. "There, the damage has been repaired." She had that strange grin plastered back on her face, and her tone was disturbingly happy and upbeat.

He looked from Priscilla to Aaron skeptically. "That was supposed to do something? Hurt?"

Priscilla rose, still smiling as she returned to her previous perch. "Wait," was all she said.

"Okay then. This has been fun. Creepy – but fun," Monroe said as he stood up to leave the room. He only got a few feet when suddenly a wave of pain and dizziness overwhelmed him. He crumpled to the floor as image after image flooded into his mind like a tsunami. Every lost moment hit him like a freight train as he was forced to relive everything that had been lost before, feeling each memory as if it was just happening for the first time.

No longer noticing the others in the room, he pushed himself away and slid into the corner by the front door. Monroe huddled there for quite some time before he reached up behind him for the doorknob. Turning it, he opened the door and crawled out. The sound of his retching was close enough to confirm to everyone inside that he'd barely made it out before his stomach had revolted.

Brodie stood at the closed door, pawing at it as he whined. Daniel had jumped to his feet to go after him before he thought better of it. He was still having trouble believing what had happened right before his eyes, but if he saw what he thought he saw the he knew Monroe needed to be alone. He watched these strange guests carefully. Aaron seemed to be genuinely concerned. Priscilla just sat on the couch with her eyes closed and that half smile on her face.

After a while, Aaron decided to check on Monroe. He got to his feet and headed towards the door, when Daniel's words stopped him. "Leave him be a while." Something in the old man's tone sent Aaron back to the loveseat, where all three of them waited in silence. A few hours later, Monroe finally reappeared. He looked tired. The hardness that had been missing since he'd come out of that coma had returned. He passed by them and went into the kitchen. He returned moments later with a bottle of Daniel's famous bourbon. He'd at least had the courtesy to bring several glasses.

He set them down on the coffee table as he took his seat. He poured a drink, shooting it down with one swallow before immediately pouring another for himself and the old man. "Why would you do this to me?" he asked as he passed Daniel the glass.

"So you could have your memories back. You're welcome," Aaron replied. The coldness of the general was back, and Aaron admitted to himself that he was more than a little afraid.

"You son of a bitch. Why would I _ever_ want to remember all of that?" He spoke through clenched teeth. Before anyone could react, he'd set the glass down and leapt over to where Aaron was seated. Monroe grabbed him roughly by his shirt, pulling him to his feet. Cocking his head at him, Monroe was in the process of deciding if he just wanted to hit Staypuffed or go all out and break his neck when he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

"That's enough, Sebastian." Daniel's voice was quiet but firm. Monroe stilled for a second, and (much to Aaron's surprise) let him go. Daniel sat back down and picked up his drink. "Maybe it was time. Deep down, you know it."

Monroe backed away from Aaron and sat back down in the chair across from him. He leaned on the armrest, resting his head in his hand for several minutes as he tried to decide where to go from here. Aaron still sat in aw that a quiet word from this old farmer had calmed the beast within. He'd seen Miles get Monroe to back down before, but it had always been done begrudgingly. This was different, like Monroe actually valued what Daniel had to say.

"So, Miles sent you to find me then?" Monroe finally asked, wearily.

"No. Miles and Rachel are in Oklahoma somewhere trying to make the Patriots' lives difficult," Aaron explained. "Connor went with them," he added, knowing what Monroe's next question was likely to be.

Monroe reached for his glass. Slouching back in the chair, he swirled the amber liquid around for a few seconds before taking a drink. "Then what do you want from me, other than to ruin my life?"

"We came here to find you because of Charlie."

"Charlie?" Monroe sat up straight again, clearly confused. "Why would she –" he cut himself off as he remembered the condition she was in when he'd left. "How is she?"

Aaron looked away uncomfortably. "Not great, last we saw her. The doc has her on bed rest. He said she's having complications since she caught some kind of fever that was going around." He finally took the opportunity to help himself to a drink. He was waiting for Monroe to connect the dots. He was praying he didn't have to spell it out for him, because this was embarrassing enough.

Monroe could tell Aaron expected something of him, but he hadn't quite figured it out. "When was the last time you saw her?"

Aaron counted on his fingers, "Like three weeks, I guess. That's about how long it took us to get here."

Monroe suddenly felt sick again. "Aaron, if it's been that long, she could be –"

Priscilla spoke up now. She'd been listening, experiencing up until this point. "She lives still."

Monroe had been doing his best to forget that Priscilla was not in the room. So quiet had she been that her voice almost made him jump. "How can you know that?"

She locked eyes with him, that creepy smile still on her face. "We are everywhere, we can see everything."

Monroe downed his drink and grabbed the bottle to pour another, desperate for the numbing effect that only a good buzz could provide. "What's this got to do with me?"

"Please don't make me say it out loud," Aaron whined. "It's just too weird as it is."

With so much jumbled up in his head, he hadn't seen it immediately. Monroe nearly dropped his glass as he realized the truth. "Why didn't she tell me?" He asked it to himself as much as to Aaron, his voice showing how wounded by this he truly was.

"Well, you can ask her when you get there," Aaron said flatly.

Monroe sat back quietly for a while, thinking. He flicked his eyes towards Daniel questioningly, receiving the slightest of nods in response. With a sigh, he stood. "Well come on then. I'll show you where you can bed down for the night. We leave at first light. I've got some work to do still before nightfall."

After showing Aaron and this strange Not-Priscilla (as he'd decided to call her from here on out) to a spare room down the hall, he headed out to tend the animals. The horses and cows needed feeding. Plus, he still had to find Dickhead the goat in the fields. He returned to the house with Brodie right before Daniel had dinner ready. The night passed without sleep for Monroe.

**A/N (for reals): I've yes, I've decided to include the nano, if you hadn't guessed by my alluding to Priscilla's creepiness in other chapters. I've also decided that the Nano is going to be frighteningly sadistic in a childlike way. I think that based off of previews from the show, this is the direction that they are going to take it anyways, but mine might be a little to the extreme. There aren't a whole lot of fics out there that include the nano as a side plot, and I thought "Hey, here's an excellent device to make the story move in any direction I want! Yay!) I think it was complicated enough to create an entire OC character with a background and personality and everything without having to work out a slow progression of Monroe's memory returning. So, yep the Nano did it for him – in the most sadistic and painful way possible, of course. So I hope you'll all forgive me for taking the easy way out of the amnesia mess. The Nano will have some fun in the next few chapters I promise. And although I'm not 100% sure if this story will continue on long enough for Daniel to make a reappearance (I've got the end written but I could sequel it later or add. Dunno yet, it might make it too cheesy if I do), his presence thus far will have a profound effect I think on how Monroe acts and reacts to life from here on out. Thank you all for previous comments and faves/follows. Always nice to read what you think. (Insert plea for feedback here). **


	5. Intermission: A memory

**A/N: Just an interlude between chapters. A memory (or flashback), if you will. Okay let's be honest, I just wanted to work some smut into this story. Sorry if it is not fully proofed. It's hard to proof read when you've got a 2 year old slapping at the keys! I suppose I could have waited till tonight, but I wanted to get this up before I started typing up the next chapter or two.**

_He finds her on the top floor of the defunct office building. The body of Jason Neville is cradled in her lap. She needs to grieve, but now is not the time. He drags her away. To her credit, her hysterics end before they find a back exit to the building. _

_They meet up with Miles not far from where he'd found her. Connor has already left the city. Miles tells him that Connor had seen Charlie follow Jason into the building. He'd made his way towards them, but before he could get there, all hell had broken loose. It didn't take much to put two and two together. Miles and Connor had already realized they'd been compromised._

_Connor will double back and wait for them at their backup rendezvous point. The original one, where their boat awaits them is no longer safe. They don't know when Jason was activated or if he's had time to tell them. The backup plan is simple. Get out of town, scatter if needs be. Wait 24 hours and then meet up at the secondary location. _

_They are confident they are making a clean getaway when suddenly the Rangers appear out of nowhere. Miles gives him one last request as they are about to be overrun: Get Charlie out. They become separated, but he succeeds in getting her away. She is madder than hell and fights him, but he's stronger than her. He'll do as Miles has asked him, even if she hates him for it later._

_They are low on supplies. He has his pack, nothing more. His bedroll is on the boat they used to get close to Austin. Hers is there as well. Her pack has been lost in the escape. They must now cross the river without a boat. He shoves both of their jackets and his gun in his backpack. He does his best to keep it dry as they cross in the shallowest place he can find. _

_Later that night they are chilled, wet and tired. It is too risky to light a fire. They've put a lot of distance in between themselves and Austin but the Rangers will be looking for them. He knows better than to underestimate a pissed off Texan with a score to settle. Any undercover Patriots in the area will be looking for them as well._

_His pack contains one thin blanket. This was a precaution he took, just in case. It has gotten a bit damp, but is better than nothing. They find a small cave in the woods to protect them from the early spring wind and drizzle. Inside, they shed their boots in hopes that they will dry. Their clothes are still soaked. If they were smart, they'd shed these too, but he knows better than to expect her to think about that one logically. At the very least he convinces her to shed the denim shirt she is wearing over her tank top. He has already spread his long sleeved shirt out to dry. His t-shirt is wet, and he's cold but he has survived worse conditions. _

_He wraps his jacket around her shoulders before sitting down with his back against the wall of the cave. She joins him and they both huddle under the think blanket for warmth. She holds herself completely rigid. Finally he tells her, "We're safe. It's okay to let go now."_

_She fights it, but it's coming. Against her will, she sags into his arms and quietly sobs. She clings to him as she grieves. He understands her pain more than she can know. She has just killed her first love. A little over a year ago, in a fit of madness he had gone home to Jasper, Indiana to lure Miles out of hiding. He'd gotten Emma killed. She was his first love, and even after twenty-five years and a dead wife, he'd loved her still._

_Her sobs slowly subside and she drifts off to sleep. Holding her, he finally follows suit. He is awakened later by a hand gently caressing his face. His eyes open and he looks at her, confused. Her lips find his and for a moment he responds, kissing her back lazily. But he knows this isn't right. "Charlie, what are you doing?" he asks her as he gently takes her by the wrists._

"_Please," is all she says in reply._

_He draws in a breath, taking in her scent. The sorrow in her voice is heartbreaking, even to one such as him. He lets out a sigh, preparing to refuse her. "This isn't what you want. I'm not what you want."_

_She pulls her hand out of his grip. He does nothing to stop her. She strokes his cheek again. "You are, at least for tonight. Can't we just forget about all of this? No Patriots? No scars? Like there was never a Monroe Republic and all the bad memories are just a dream? Can't you just pretend for one night that you want this? That I matter?"_

_With every desperate plea, he feels his resolve weakening. She has no idea what she is asking of him. He looks into her wide and pleading yes. He knows he's going to cave. "I don't have to pretend," he tells her as his mouth comes crashing down on hers. He pulls her across his lap. His hand cups her chin as he deepens the kiss and tastes her._

_He loses track of how long they stay this way, but he wants to savor this. It will be the only time, and he knows this. He doesn't even remember laying her down on the floor of the cave, his jacket now off her shoulders and being used to buffer her from the dirt floor of the cave. Her hands reach up and pull at his damp t-shirt. Their mouths part as he shrugs out of the shirt. Her hands softly explore the hard muscles of his chest before she gently runs her hands down his stomach._

_He unzips her jacket and pulls it from her before taking off her tank top. He captures her mouth again. One hand starts on her shoulder and slowly works its way down. His thumb massages slow circles over her collarbone. She finds the sensation intimate and erotic at the same time. His mouth follows his hand. He cups her breast, gently kneading it through her bra. He nuzzles the valley between her breasts as he reaches under her and undoes the clasp to remove the garment. _

_Her breasts are now bared for him to feast on. He caresses one while he teases and licks the other. She pants and writhes, putty in his hands. She reaches down and fumbles with the snap at his waist. He chuckles as he helps her. She undoes the zipper and his length springs forth. He groans as she wraps her hand around him to stroke the shaft. After kicking himself out of his jeans, he finishes undressing her. _

_They roll and she is on top of him. He holds on to her tightly as she lowers herself onto him. She is slick and hot and ready for him. His girth stretches her. She moans as she slides down, taking all of him inside her. She sits up and slow begins to ride him. His fingers dig into her hips as he helps her to lift off of him before sinking down. He reaches up to tease her breasts, rewarding him with another low moan. Her temp increases; she leans forward and kisses him greedily. _

_She can tell he's holding a part of himself back from her. She wants all of him. Their eyes are locked. He fights to keep from losing himself in those blue eyes. "Don't you ever let yourself lose control?" She asks against his lips._

"_Not anymore," he says._

_She has topped moving. Her thighs grip his hips tightly; she caresses his face as she kisses him gently. "Do it this once, just for tonight," she whispers. Then she throws his words to her from earlier back at him, "It's okay to let go now."_

_He flips her over suddenly, still buried deep within her. His hand rests under one thigh, drawing it up higher to allow him deeper access. She instinctively locks her leg around his waist. His arm is under her back, his hand supports her neck. She wraps her arms around him, digging her nails into his scarred back._

_He is no longer thinking. For the first time in years, his guard is down, and he is lost. Their tongues battle, each thrust inside her becomes more wild and desperate. He is oblivious to everything but her tight walls gripping him and the feel of her arms around him. Their tongues battle as he takes them higher, each thrust bringing the both closer. She meets him halfway each time, moaning and panting. They explode in unison. He feels her convulsing around him as he pours into her. _

_He collapses on top of her. She tightens her arms around him, reveling in the feeling of his weight over her. After some time he shifts, pulling out of her. He rolls onto his back, taking her with him. Drawing the blanket over them, he holds her as they both drift off to slip once more. Her head rests on his shoulder as the sleep clinging to one another. In the morning they slowly untangle themselves and get dressed._

_He knows better than to bring up what they've done. She has gotten the comfort she needed, and he can tell she does feel better for it. It's enough. The next day, Miles is still missing. She takes off in the middle of the night. He knows she's gone back for her uncle, and so he tracks her carefully. As he approaches, he hears an all too familiar voice. "No one's protecting you now Miss Matheson."_

_He cocks his gun and points it at the owner of the voice as he steps out of the shadows. "You couldn't be more wrong, Tom," he says as he reveals himself. Their eyes meet up, and her relief is evident. He's seen this look in her eyes many times before. He knows what she is thinking, what she will say to him later. She always says the same thing, "You came back." For some reason he cannot fathom, she asks him not to kill Neville. It goes against his better judgment, but he does as she asks, settling for knocking the bastard out instead. _

_They find Miles and manage to rescue him. Later they finally meet up with Connor. And still, Charlie acts like nothing has happened. And he still lets her. But he is there, always in the background, protecting her – trying all the while to forget those blue eyes filled with passion, begging him to let go for her. It is their night together and the memory of those pleading eyes that send him storming into Willoughby with his men two weeks later. He is there to protect her once more. He knows at the time that it is reckless, stupid even. But even as the blast hits and he's flying through the air, he knows he'd do it again in a heartbeat. As the world starts to fade to black, he wonders if she's thinking "He came back."_


	6. Calm before the storm

**A/N: The long awaited reunion chapter. I will warn you, I think that Monroe kind of goes back of forth in between behaving in character and OOC. I've kind of done this on purpose, because after living with his pre-Republic mentality for so long, even with the memories back, I think that it would change him. It's not like he's forgotten all of the things he's thought and felt in those months. Also, I've also decided that the dog makes for a fun little bit of comic relief. All stories need it. I've usually used the childishness that is the friendship of Miles and Monroe (in my head canon) in previous stories but since Miles is not at this point around, I had to have a substitute.**

Monroe gave up on sleep a few hours before dawn. Their one night together had been playing through his mind over and over in a constant torturous loop, interrupted only by thoughts of their conversation about her pregnancy a few weeks before he'd left her. He was hurt and angry, and a part of him wondered if she'd told him the truth that maybe it would have kept him there long enough to regain his memory on his own. It would have been better than the cruel way Aaron's little robots had forced it back upon him after he'd had a taste of peace and happiness.

The day was just dawning as they prepared to leave. Aaron and Not-Priscilla waited by the horses, waiting for Monroe to join them. He'd tried to refuse the animals, but Daniel stubbornly insisted that he take them as payment for all of the work he'd done since the harvest. They both knew that he'd already been paid far more than they'd originally agreed, but the old man was not going to budge.

Aaron watched with interest as Monroe shook Daniel's hand warmly. "Are you sure you'll be okay here alone?"

"Been working this farm alone for the past four years. I'll be just fine as always. I've still got the local kids comin' and I'll get the help I need for planting come spring." Daniel said gruffly. "You're welcome back if you've a need," he added.

Monroe nodded. "Thank you, for everything." He released Daniel's hand and walked back to the horses. He mounted the black gelding he'd favored while working the farm. Settling himself in the saddle, he watched Aaron awkwardly heft himself onto his own mount. He couldn't help laugh at the sight. It was going to be a long ride. Not-Priscilla proved much more limber – eerily so.

Monroe whistled once and Brodie came bounding out of the barn, ready to go. "Well come on then, Stay-puffed. Let's go," he said as he guided his horse onto the main road.

Aaron and Not-Priscilla followed him, with Brodie happily bringing up the rear. Aaron was starting to get fed up with all of the nasty little nicknames he kept being given Monroe (and okay, Miles did it too). "Beardie, Stay-puffed. Any chance you'll ever settle on just calling me Aaron?"

Monroe didn't respond right away, as if he was thinking about it. "Not a chance in hell," he finally replied.

"Asshole," Aaron muttered quietly to himself.

"Yep." Aaron flinched as Monroe's response reached him. He hadn't realized the former general had heard him.

It had taken Aaron three weeks to reach Daniel's farm, and that had been with the help of the Nano being able to take him the most direct route. With the aid of the horses, their time on the road would be cut in half. They mostly rode in silence. Monroe and Aaron had very little to say to one another. Even if they didn't dislike each other, they had little in common to begin with. Actually, other than having spent the majority of the blackout as functioning alcoholics, they had absolutely nothing in common.

Monroe kept a grueling pace as possible without wearing out the horses or the dog. The sky was very high in the sky when he finally suggested they stop for a short break and to eat. Always the gracious host and generous farmer, Daniel had packed them enough food to last the first few days on the road.

Aaron watched as Monroe sat, tossing bits of his sandwich to the dog. The animal sat patiently, wagging his tail with a paw in the air before Monroe finally shared. Curious, Aaron finally broke the silence. "So, what's with the dog?"

Monroe stopped eating to look at him. "He's a dog. I feed him, he follows."

"No, I mean why are you bringing him?" Aaron was only making conversation, and was annoyed that Monroe always had to be such a dick.

He turned his attention back to Brodie. "He's my dog. What else was I going to do with him?"

Aaron finished his sandwich and leaned back on his elbows. "So General Sebastian Monroe has a dog… A Border Collie no less. Who would have thought it."

"Why can't I have a dog. A lot of people have dogs."

Aaron watched Monroe interact with the animal for a few minutes. With the food gone, Brodie had picked up a stick to chew on. Monroe was messing with the dog, pulling on the stick. Clearly this was a game they'd played before. "I don't know, you just don't seem the type. It's kind of weird."

Monroe stopped playing with the dog and raised an eyebrow at Aaron. "First of all, you don't really know me Stay-puffed. So you have no idea what I would or wouldn't do. Second of all, you're robot girlfriend over there has been talking to a leaf for the past twenty minutes. I really don't think you have any right to judge what is or isn't weird."

Aaron looked passed Monroe and noticed he was right. There she was, having a lively and very happy conversation with a dead leaf. "Yeah. Point taken."

Monroe couldn't help but laugh at Aaron's expression. "So what's her deal anyway? Your little robots just spend their time walking around in a Priscilla suit for the hell of it?"

Aaron looked at Not-Priscilla again to make sure she was entertaining the foliage. Not that it would make much of a difference. "The nano is an artificial intelligence. It doesn't understand most of what it sees. Kind of like a child. It wants to learn what it's like to be human."

Monroe started packing up, indicating that their break was swiftly coming to an end. "Who else knows about her?"

Aaron lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. "Just the two of us and your friend. The nano made it very clear that I was supposed to keep the fact that they are controlling her a secret."

That made no sense to him at all. "Then why did your mechanical germs let me in on this?"

"Because it was the only way to fix you and the nano kind of owed me a favor," he whispered. "It has to stay a secret. Remember what the naonotech did to those Patriots? If anyone finds out, the nano will not be happy. It's no longer running off of any type of program. There is no telling what it's capable of."

Monroe nodded as he secured the bag of food back onto the horse. The idea that Not-Priscilla could catch someone on fire just like that freaked him out. If it wasn't for the way his memories had returned, he wouldn't have believed a word of it, but she had been able to fix him somehow. It was almost terrifying.

Their journey was so uneventful to the point of boredom. They rode hard. Monroe insisted on leaving at daybreak and continuing on until dusk. Although he'd never say it out loud, he was worried that if they didn't get there soon, it would be too late. Charlie's condition must have been fairly bad if it had sent Aaron of all people looking for him.

They were only two days out (according to Aaron) when the tedium of their trip suddenly ended. They were just setting up camp when they found themselves confronted by a small patriot squadron. It was only eight men, but Monroe was the only one armed. And he was poorly armed at that – Just a knife and a gun. He'd been in the woods getting wood for their fire while Aaron started to setup the rest of camp.

He saw them as he approached the clearing. Keeping to the tree line, he tried to stay out of sight as his mind raced. It wouldn't take the Patriots long to count two travelers and three horses. Being outnumbered and outgunned, the element of surprise was the only advantage he had. The squadron was spread out in the clearing just enough for him to get close to one of the men in the rear. He just needed a way to get the other patriots looking the other way. He looked down Brodie and came up with an idea.

He slowly picked up a stick and waved it in front of the dog, getting his attention. Brodie's tail started to wag as he crouched down playfully. Monroe prayed the dog wouldn't bark and give away his location. Before he had time to contemplate how ridiculous his plan was, he wound up to throw the stick and then whipped his arm forward. The dog took off running through the clearing, desperate to find the stick that was unfortunately still in Monroe's hand.

The Border Collie tearing past them diverted the Patriots' attention just long enough for Monroe to stealthily step out and grab the man closest to him from behind. As soon as the man was in the trees, Monroe snapped his neck. He caught the body as it fell and lowered it to the ground as quietly as possible. He grabbed the man's rifle and smiled to himself as he began to draw the sword the soldier had also carried.

He winced as the sword scrapped against the inside of its scabbard. He didn't know why the patriots insisted on using these old metal scabbards. _So much for surprise_ he thought as two soldiers turned back his direction at the sound. They immediately noticed that someone was missing and went to investigate. Monroe retreated further into the trees and let them come to him. The soldiers in this squadron were all very young, likely newly graduated cadets. For all their brainwashing and training, they weren't experienced, which gave him another edge.

He circled around, taking one from behind with the sword and then shooting the other. He yanked the sword from the fallen man and headed back again. As he burst from the trees he immediately fired off two shots, downing two more before the other three realized what was happening. He only saw two more men standing in the clearing, their rifles pointed at Aaron and Not-Priscilla.

He took another shot and one more went down. He ducked back into the trees, intent of doubling back, when he felt a barrel of a patriot rifle boring into his back. With a frustrated sigh, he raised his hands in surrender. The soldier marched him back to the clearing. The only other man remaining in the clearing looked dazed. In just a few minutes, they'd lost six men – including their squadron leader. And they'd yet to fire a single shot. The soldier that stood waiting was very young. So young that he would have been considered too young by militia standards even. Maybe fifteen years old.

He stared the kid down, hoping to play on the kid's unease and inexperience. His mind was racing pulling up one scenario after another and playing them out in his mind. If he went for the guy behind him and the kid wasn't distracted, either he or Aaron would be killed. As much as Stay-puffed annoyed him, getting him killed was the last thing he wanted (for one, he'd never find Charlie without him, and he kind of liked him despite their animosity). If he went for the kid, he'd never make it with the gun at his back.

Before he could make a decision, a low growl came from behind the kid. Brodie stood there snarling. The kid glanced at the dog just long enough to give Monroe a window. He whipped around and thrusted the knife he'd hidden in his sleeve up into the throat of the Patriot behind him. He quickly grabbed the dead man's gun and shot the kid before anyone had a chance to react.

Covered in blood and panting, Monroe turned to Aaron. "Let's find a new place to camp," he said casually as he went about relieving the dead soldiers of any ammo and weapons he could find. Aaron stood there in stunned shock. Monroe had just killed eight men in front of him in a matter of minutes. Granted, he was still alive because of it, but the stealthy grace combined with the nonchalance afterward was chilling. Not-Priscilla's grin widened. "What?" Aaron asked her.

"He enjoyed killing them," she observed. That thought sent a shudder down Aaron's spine. It was one thing to be able to kill a whole lot of people when you had to. It was something else to like it. He was starting to doubt that asking the nano to restore General Monroe to his previous psychotic glory was the right thing to do. One minute the man was mending fences, the next he's as lethal as he'd ever been.

Monroe had finished stowing the weapons he'd collected. He spared a second to bend down and rub Brodie affectionately on the head. "Good boy," he said as he straightened. He went back over to Aaron. "Well don't just stand there. Help me hide the bodies. We don't know if there are any more of these khaki zombies wandering around. When they'd done, they rode hard for an hour to put some distance between themselves and the dead patriots before once again making camp.

They managed to reach the small homestead in northern Louisiana without further incident. Monroe had laughed out loud when he realized where they'd settled: About twenty miles west of what used to be Monroe, Louisiana. "Seriously?" he'd asked Aaron.

Aaron had simply rolled his eyes. "Complete coincidence, I swear." Aaron had spent the past two days avoiding talking to Monroe more than usual. After the confrontation with the Patriots, he was more afraid of him than he'd ever been before.

Monroe had been just fine with this arrangement. After killing that squadron, He'd noticed Not-Priscilla watching him more than usual. It always sent a chill down his spine when she sent him that weird grin of hers, so he'd simply avoided both of his companions. The closer they got to their destination, the less he'd felt like talking anyway. He was nervous to say the least, but also the closer they got the angrier he'd become. He'd spent most of their journey trying to not think about why he was traveling. He'd have driven himself crazy otherwise. But now, he couldn't keep his mind off of it. She'd lied to him and she'd had no intention of him ever learning the truth. Whereas Miles had constantly tried to get him to remember something, she'd avoided bringing up the past at all cost.

This was the second time in his life where a woman had decided to keep a child of his to herself. He and Emma had never had a chance to hash her decision out – he'd already decided her excuse of her parents not letting her tell him was bullshit. He'd been home plenty of times on leave before his parents died where she'd had to hide Connor. She was an adult by then and could have told him at any time. Her parents no longer held any power over her. Charlie had known Emma had hidden Connor from him even before the blackout. She had to have known how much it had hurt him, and yet she'd been happy to do the same thing.

When they arrived, Monroe took his time tending to the horses, avoiding the confrontation that loomed inside the house. He stabled them in the empty garage that was attached to the side of the house, mentally noting what would need to be done to the structure to turn it into a more proper stable. He'd spent so many weeks seeing to their welfare that it was almost a matter of habit to him now. They'd grazed a few hours ago, but he'd need to somehow come up with some proper feed for them. He set their tack and saddles down on the workbench that had been built into the wall of the garage and went about filling a galvanized tub with water from a pump on the side of the house.

Not able to put it off any longer, he left the horses for now and made his way up the porch stairs. He told Brodie to stay as he opened the screen door and stepped inside. The fact that they'd been here for moths was well evident. The house was well cleaned and almost inviting. He walked through the entryway and poked his head around the corner. Gene was sitting in an easy chair with a book. Monroe watched him warily for a few moments before Gene acknowledge him.

"Bout time you showed up," Gene said casually as he turned the page. Monroe wasn't sure if he was referring to his procrastination or his absence in general. He simply nodded at the doctor and slung his pack off of his shoulder, setting it down on the table closest to the door. "Upstairs, last door on the left," Gene continued, answering Monroe's unspoken question.

Wordlessly, he headed up the stairs. Walking to the door at the end of the hallway, he paused with his hand on the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle and slowly opened the door. She was curled up on her side, eyes closed. He gently closed the door behind him. He moved the chair in the room next to the bed so he could watch her. Her protruding belly betrayed her condition. Even in sleep she looked unwell. He could see the dark circles under her eyes.

He watched her for a while, waiting for her to wake up. It did not take long before he found himself jerking to stay awake. The exhaustion that always followed a long journey was catching with him. He finally gave in and fell asleep.

The setting sun cast an eerie glow around the room. Charlie laid in the bed, watching him slowly rouse. Her grandfather had come and gone almost two hours ago to check on them and bring her a tray. She was surprised that he hadn't woken up. Gene hadn't exactly been going out of his way to be quiet. She'd asked him about Monroe's presence in the room, but Gene hadn't had an answer for her. He didn't know how Aaron had convinced him to come, nor did he know where he'd been all these months or if Monroe's memories had returned. She'd scooted out of bed to drape an afghan over him when it became apparent he wasn't going to wake up any time soon. After eating, she'd settled herself back down and watched him.

Despite his apparent exhaustion, he still looked pretty good for someone that had been in a coma seven months ago. She wondered where he'd been all this time. She knew he'd spent some time on the road getting here, considering how long Aaron had been gone, but he was still fairly cleaned up. His hair was shorter than the last time she'd seen him and his beard wasn't as grown out as she'd remembered either. So he couldn't have been travelling all these months. He must have settled somewhere.

She began to wonder who he'd been with as well. She did her best to shake off that train of thought. She would _not_ let herself care. If he'd been with someone, it wasn't like she had a right to hold it against him. He hadn't remembered, and even if somewhere along the line he had, it wasn't like they'd had any type of understanding – quite the opposite. She'd done her best to push him away after that night, and he'd complied. She waited patiently as he opened his eyes and became aware of her.

They simply stared at each other for a long while. She could see the anger that he was trying to disguise. She'd come to know him well enough since she'd tracked him to New Vegas that he was no longer able to hide what he was feeling from her. Not that he was all that good at it to begin with. She could tell he was struggling with himself at that moment, but then again, when wasn't he?

As he took her in, he found himself wondering if it was possible to love someone and hate them at the same time. He wanted to hold her as desperately as he wanted to yell at her, and was torn between these two urges. He settled for something in between the two. "Some guy you picked up outside of Austin, huh? Nice to know that's what I qualify as."

The tone was all too familiar. The cold indifference that he so carefully maintained filled the room. She knew better, that it was a façade. "You remember," she said carefully. He nodded slowly in response. "How much do you remember?"

Monroe took a few slow breaths, forcing his temper into submission. Her voice was almost too soft, and her color was off. He knew she hadn't been well. Railing at her now would not do either of them any good tonight. There was time for that later. With his anger held at bay for now he answered her. "Everything. It only came back after Aaron showed up." He watched her carefully before he continued. "You lied to me."

He waited for her to respond, dying to hear what excuse she'd come up with. When he'd first remembered and made the connection between that night and her being pregnant, it had been a low blow. Even when he was the best possible version of himself, she'd still lied. He could only assume she'd not wanted him around, even when he wasn't what she'd thought of as a monster. What did that say about her feelings for him?

"I lied because I had to. It was for the best," she said sadly. It was clear that she was not inclined to explain further.

Monroe was having none of it. "Best for whom?"

"For you," she snapped. She knew that he was hurt by her lie, especially after Emma. But she'd be damned if she'd just let him think the worst of her, not when he couldn't possibly understand her reasons. "And you can't tell me that if I had told you the truth you would have just accepted it. You had too much that you were trying to accept at the time."

"Guess we'll never know, will we?" His voice was bitter, but hid the underlying sadness beneath it. She flushed guiltily at those words, and a part of him felt bad for it. The past could not completely overshadow the fact that her health had deteriorated. Relenting, he sighed deeply. His expression softened as he rubbed the back of his neck where it was stiff from having slept in the chair. "You're not doing well?" he asked, effectively changing the subject.

Charlie explained the illness that had gone through the settlement nearby. "Most of the people that caught it didn't get that sick, but it knocked me on my ass for almost a month. I've been having problems ever since."

His brows were furrowed with worry. "What kind of problems?"

"I started bleeding a little and having contractions. It's been happening off and on for the past six weeks or so." She blushed as she spoke. It was embarrassing talking about it with him. "I've been stuck in this bed ever since. Now I know how you felt when you were recovering."

He ignored her reference to his injuries. The last thing he wanted was to go back there. It had been hell for him, and that had been where she'd lied to him. "And the baby?"

Charlie took pity on him. She scooted over on the bed. "Come here." She saw him hesitate and read the wariness that was written all over his face. "Do you want to feel or not?" She knew darn well that he did. He got up to join her and sat down next to her. He placed his hand on belly and waited. Nothing happened after several minutes. "You might as well lie down, this might take a while."

After another wary glance he took off his boots and stretched down next to her and rested his hand on her once again. After a few minutes, she grabbed his hand and moved it. Then he felt it, a kick, strong and steady. He smiled in spite of himself. They stayed that way for quite a while. Both of them refused to acknowledge the intimacy of it all, but at the same time they were both terrified to do anything that would ruin it. He was still angry, but he felt the sharpness of that anger slowly fade away.

"See, alive and kicking," she finally said after quite a while. She grabbed his other hand and set it down on the other side of her belly. He felt movement there as well and looked at her, confused. "Grandpa thinks there's probably two of them in there messing around. Well, it's either that or this is just one huge kid. Grandpa said I'm measuring way too big."

"Two?" He laid there in utter amazements. "Huh. Twins. That's – wow…" He wasn't exactly sure how to react. He flopped over on his back and stared at the ceiling.

Charlie sat up and leaned over him, placing herself quite deliberately in his line of sight. "Are you okay?"

He sighed deeply as he reached up and brushed her hair behind her ear. Charlie closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. "It's a lot to take in. Less than two weeks ago, I didn't remember any of this. Everything came back, well abruptly. It wasn't exactly pleasant. I got here not even knowing if you were okay, and now I find out you're having not just one kid but maybe even two."

Unable to resist, she laid back down and rested her head on his shoulder. He stiffened for a split second before he relaxed and put his arm around her. When he'd woken up in her room this evening, she'd immediately seen the cold and calculating killer she'd known so well. Since then he'd slowly calmed down and now the man that held her was more like the man he'd been when he'd forgotten his past.

When she looked back, she could see where there'd been glimpses of that man before. When he'd nursed her back to health after she'd been drugged in that bar, he'd been gentle with her – until she'd threatened to kill him that is. And when he'd come back to her in the school, the look he'd given her had come from this side of him. And of course the night they'd been busy getting her into her current predicament. That was when she'd finally realized what had been behind all the snide comments he'd made about her and Connor. She realized then how much he actually cared, even if he hadn't been willing to admit it.

He closed his eyes and tried to do some quick math in his head. He was still too tired and had too much rumbling around in his mind to keep the numbers straight, so he gave up. "How much longer?"

"A month, if I last that long. Grandpa said it could be any day now though. If you haven't noticed, I'm huge. There's no telling though." She saw the brief flicker of fear in his eyes at the idea of her going early. He'd been down that road once before and nothing she could say would lessen his anxiety. She reached out and caressed his cheek. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

He opened his mouth to reply when they heard a distinctive scratching sound at the door. "What was that?"

With an exasperated sigh, he got up and walked over to the door to let Brodie in. He wasn't exactly sure who'd let him in, but he supposed he should be grateful. He felt bad about having forgotten he was outside waiting for him on the porch. The dog walked in and jumped up on the bed to introduce himself to Charlie. "Brodie, down!" He commanded as he pulled him off the bed. "Sorry, I thought I'd broken him of that bad habit a while ago," Monroe apologized as he gave the dog a stern look.

Charlie couldn't help but laugh. It was like watching someone apologize for the actions of a drunken friend. "Who's this?"

Monroe laid back down next to her on the bed. Brodie wagged his tail as he put his paws up on the bed. "This is Brodie," he said as he gave him a quick scratch behind the ear. Charlie reached over to pet him.

"You have a dog?" She asked him, not a little surprised.

He shrugged. "Why does everyone think that's so strange? People have dogs. Have been keeping them for thousands of years. Don't know why I can't have one too," he grumbled.

She laughed again. "I don't know. It's just, when you opened that door I didn't expect it. He looks like a farm dog. Why a farm dog?"

"Because I was staying on a farm, for one," he replied. That opened the conversation up for him to explain exactly where he'd been these past months. He explained about how Daniel had pretty much saved him from getting his ass strung up (He was pretty sure at this point that Daniel had indeed saved his life that day), and how he'd come to find Brodie.

They talked for a few more hours. Charlie told him about how what was left of the clansmen had tracked them to the safe house a few days after he'd left. They'd gone back and forth with the Patriots until Charlie could no longer hide her pregnancy. They'd known she'd need to lay low for a while, so they'd come here. So far the Patriots had stayed away for the most part, and no one in Louisiana recognized them. Afterwards, they'd left her here with Gene, Aaron and Priscilla.

He'd stopped her in that part of her story to finally ask. "Do they know?"

She'd hesitated before answering, which made him a little nervous. "Mom and Miles don't. Connor…"

Monroe had winced. "You told him," he'd said flatly.

Charlie knew where he was headed, and he was not wrong. "I had to. He was so angry when you left. None of us knew if we'd ever see you again, and he had a right to know he had a sibling coming. I wanted him to know he still wasn't alone."

He'd understood, really. He'd just hoped he'd eventually be able to explain it to Connor himself. "So how did he take it?"

Charlie had refused to meet his gaze. "Not well. He was originally going to stay here, just in case the Patriots started setting up shop in the area. He left with Mom and Rachel after I told him."

Not all of her news had been so depressing. They were making some headway out west. Her mother had found a way to send a message through. Miles had convinced Governor Affleck in Cali to see to reason and she'd cooperated in their efforts to prove that the California papers that the would-be Patriot assassins had carried were forgeries. Texas had gone against the treaty and had made a promise to send aid their way. They were finally on the offensive in Oklahoma.

A part of Monroe was sorry he was missing the action. Charlie couldn't help but admit that she'd felt guilty just lying around while her family was fighting. But it was actually easier now that they had a chance. "You didn't think we did before?" He asked her.

She gave him a patronizing look. "Really? You thought we had a chance? Wow, that's… optimistic, I guess. No, before we were losing an uphill battle, and I knew that we were all going to die for it sooner or later. I guess that's why when everyone else hated you even more for wanting the Republic back, I didn't really care. I figured none of us would live long enough for it to matter."

He rolled her eyes at her. "Nice to know you're a 'glass is half empty' type. And thanks for the vote of confidence, by the way. Haven't you learned yet? I might be really good at killing, but I suck at getting killed, even when I'm not trying too hard to stay alive." Now it was her turn to roll her eyes at him. "Anyway, so what happens after?"

She idly played with is fingers as she spoke. "I had no problem dying for a lost cause before- and it may still be a lost cause. It was the right thing to do. Now, my priorities have obviously changed. Now I have something else to fight for."

Her words worried Monroe. "You're not- "

"Of course not. But I'll fight to protect them with everything I've got," she reassured him.

They talked a while longer, but soon it became evident that she was overly tired. In between yawns, she told him that Gene had switched rooms, leaving the one next to hers vacant for him. He took the hint that he was not welcome to stay with her. Monroe kissed her gently on the forehead and left after retrieving his boots. After letting Brodie out one last time, he checked on the horses. Gene had apparently either sent Aaron to town for feed or had gone himself while he'd slept earlier, so they were already taken care of.

With nothing left to do, he headed into the kitchen to scrounge up something to eat. He found Gene sitting quietly at the table. He acknowledged him with a sidelong glance as he went to inspect the pot that still sat on the stove. He was just hungry enough to not turn his nose up at the cold stew that waited for him within. It seemed that ever since the blackout, most people had just thrown whatever they had in a pot and kept their fingers crossed that it tasted halfway editable. In the past seventeen years, he'd gotten beyond sick of stew. He supposed he'd gotten spoiled while he stayed on Daniel's farm.

Still, the stew was better than nothing. He sat down and started to eat while Gene did his best to ignore him for the time being. "So how bad is it really?" he asked between bites.

Gene got up and started putting the rest of the stew away, now that Monroe had finally decided to grace the kitchen with his presence. "Won't know until we get there. Things are complicated enough with just one. If I'm right, two will just be more so. I don't know if her getting sick made things worse, or if it was just timing. If it all goes well, she'll be fine. If not, it could kill her. If she dies, I'll probably kill you for getting her into this mess."

Monroe pushed the bowl away, having lost his appetite. "Fair enough," was all he could say.

Gene grabbed his discarded bowl. "I'll clean up," was all he said as he turned his back on the cause of all of his granddaughters misery. Monroe made his way up to the room Gene had left for him. He kicked off his boots and stretched out on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. His worries coursed through his mind. Brodie jumped up on the bed and laid his head on Monroe's leg, sensing all was not right in his master's world. And for once, Monroe did not force him down.


	7. The tempest rages

**REVISED: I revised some of the nano dialog in this chapter towards the end, to see if I could get it to flow a bit better. I wasn't happy with it when I posted this originally. Hopefully (if you've read the other version), it's a bit better this time around.**

**A/N: I thought about waiting until tomorrow before typing this up and posting it, but I have one more chapter written up that still needs typing, and I wanted to at least get that far before the next episode airs. I'll be honest, I'm not sure I'm 100% happy with the last part of this chapter. I knew how I wanted it to go, and it went that way but I'm a little nervous that the concept sounded better in my head than it did written out (at least the way I've written it). It might be a bit hokey. But, as I said the Nano were going to come out and play one last time. So, let me know what you think. **

Monroe woke up to Brodie's urgent yap the next morning. He was groggy and felt drained still. He almost tripped over his own boots on his way to the door. It was moments like this that he remembered why his parents had not allowed them to have pets when he was a kid. Eyes still bleary, he made his way down the stairs and to the front door and let him out. It was still early and he'd only slept for a few hours. He stumbled into the kitchen and sank into one of the chairs, laying his head on the table.

The horses needed feeding, but he couldn't quite work up the energy to raise his head, let alone return upstairs for his boots and head outside. The smell of freshly cooked bacon permeated the room, although no one was around. So he quietly just sat and enjoyed the aroma as he began to doze off. He was startled awake by the sound of a cup being set down none to quietly in front of him. He forced himself upright, rubbing his eyes with one hand as he stifled a yawn. "Good morning sunshine," Aaron said brightly. He couldn't help but enjoy Monroe's obvious discomfort.

"Dick," he muttered under his breath, sincerely wishing that Stay-puffed would just evaporate into thin air in that moment.

Aaron chuckled. "Revenge is best served cold. Coffee, however is not," he said as he poured something steaming and black into the cup he'd slammed down in front of Monroe a few minutes prior.

Monroe had slept right through Aaron coming into the kitchen and brewing the coffee. "Is that what I think it is?" he said, hope almost radiating from him.

"Yep," Aaron replied as he went to retrieve his own.

Monroe wrapped his hands around the cup and just stared at it happily, like a kid at Christmas right before opening that first package. Aaron unscrewed the lid off of his flask and poured a liberal amount into his own cup. He hesitated for a second and then reached across the table to do the same to Monroe's. "I take back every prickish thing I've ever said to you, Aaron," he said after taking that first glorious sip.

"Who knew you were so easy? All it took was coffee – whore." Aaron joked.

Monroe raised a brow at him, which never failed to make Aaron a little nervous (and he knew it). "Nah, I'm not that cheap. The whiskey sealed the deal." Aaron tried to hide his sigh of relief. A joke from Monroe that wasn't at someone else's expense was the sign of a good mood indeed. Less people died that way. "So where's Not-Priscilla? Off talking to weeds somewhere? Staring at dust? She always seems to be lurking right next to you."

"They're out playing with the horses."

Monroe looked up from his coffee in alarm. "She wouldn't –"

Aaron shook his head. "Don't worry, _they _won't hurt them. They are probably trying to ask them what it's like to be a horse or something."

"That's just weird. So, uh, when do you get your girlfriend back?" He asked. He was curious about why the nano had chosen this particular woman and what they were really after.

Aaron just shrugged. "When they decide they've had enough fun playing house, I guess."

Monroe rubbed his eyes again. "It is way too early in the morning for all this sci-fi shit." Finishing his coffee he stood up and started to putter around the kitchen. "I'll put you in my will if you tell me where Gene keeps the bacon," he added.

Aaron got up and went out the side door. He came back in with an old cooler that they kept submerged in the well to keep things cold. "Oh, goody. You'd better leave me something decent. Like you're favorite gun or something." he said as he handed Monroe a small wrapped package. "Better yet, your favorite flask. I'll settle for nothing less. Bullet left a dent in mine."

Monroe went about lighting the firebox under the stove and started making breakfast. "Do you know if Charlie's up yet?"

"I don't think so. Gene got up pretty early to go into town. I heard him leave when I got up. I think he borrowed one of the horses, by the way." Aaron made himself useful and started peeling a few potatoes as he spoke.

"So where did you get the coffee?" Monroe asked. He started to turn the bacon over.

"Gene got it as payment for helping out one of the locals when he broke his collarbone. There isn't a doctor in town, so when he helps out they take care of him fairly well – usually in trade. He's pretty much been supporting us since we've been here." Aaron added the now peeled and sliced potatoes that to the pan that Monroe had just finished using for the bacon. They started to fry in the grease.

"Really?" he asked. Aaron could sense that Monroe was slightly disapproving of the fact that they'd all lived off of Gene's efforts. Charlie was one thing – she couldn't help it, but surely Aaron was good for something.

"I was offered a job teaching in town, but someone's got to keep an eye on Charlie. Priscilla can't do that. Charlie won't let her near her. She knows that she's off somehow." Aaron was quick to defend himself.

The front door opened. Brodie practically pranced in ahead of Gene. "Speak of the Devil," Monroe said quietly. Charlie's grandfather looked tired and worn. Monroe wasn't surprised. The doctor had to be almost seventy and he'd been going back and forth between taking care of Charlie and being the only doctor in the area just to make sure they didn't starve. That was something that he could help with, at least. He left Aaron to finish with the potatoes and went to his pack.

He returned a few minutes later with his bag of diamonds. He dropped the leather pouch in Gene's hand. "Here. You might need these the next time you go for supplies."

Gene opened the bag, confused. His jaw dropped at the sight of the small fortune the bag contained. "Where did you get all of these?"

Monroe went took the pan off the stove and started dividing up the potatoes on the three plates that were sitting on the counter that Aaron had filled with bacon. Aaron had already told him that Not-Priscilla had eaten. "I didn't steal them, if that's what you're implying. They were payment for a very good harvest." Well, it hadn't been entirely true. He'd found quite a few on the Patriots he'd killed, but he'd chosen not to mention that fact.

He slid a plate towards Aaron before putting the other two on the tray Gene was just setting out or him. Picking it up, he headed up the stairs with Brodie following the scent of bacon not far behind him. He opened the door to find Charlie just waking up. "Morning," he said as he set down the tray on the bedside table.

"You look like shit," she said sleepily as she watched him sink into the chair.

He gave her a sardonic look, "Gee, thanks. I try." He reached to hand her a plate and fork before picking up his own. He thought about pointing out the amusing picture she made while she balanced her plate on her stomach, but thought better of it. "I didn't get a lot of sleep, needless to say. I guess I'd gotten spoiled at Daniel's." He looked down at Brodie who was desperately trying to get his attention - and the piece of bacon he held. Shaking his head at the dog, he caved and tossed it to him.

"Starving is he?" she asked with a giggle.

He shook his head as he took a bite. "Don't let him fool you. Aaron already told me that Gene left him a bowl of leftover stew on the porch this morning. He just knows I'm a sucker."

After eating, he kept her company for most of the morning. He left briefly to tend to the horses and let Brodie out to for a run. Confident that the dog wouldn't go far he joined her again. His own experience being stuck in bed for weeks on end made him empathize with the boredom she experienced. They talked a while longer about what he'd done in Kentucky, but with her pregnancy and his lack of sleep they soon found themselves both fighting to stay awake.

Sighing, she moved over and lifted the blanket in invitation. "Come on. Take a nap with me." She didn't have to ask him twice. He practically floated out of his boots and joined her.

She started to fidget a few minutes later, tossing this way and that. "Problem?" he asked her, half asleep. He was lying on his back with one arm flopped over his eyes.

"I just can't seem to get comfortable today. I'm too huge," she tried to not whine, really. She knew she wasn't pulling it off very well.

He flipped over onto his stomach. "Rest your belly on my back," he told her. "Just trust me," he added when she gave him a strange look.

Desperate to try anything, she complied. Finally comfortable she wrapped her arm around him. He turned to face her. Her face was only a few inches from his. Charlie craned her neck forward and pressed her lips to his. He gently kissed her back. Their lips moved softly for several minutes. The contact brought to mind the way she'd woken him their one night together – and what that had led to. He slowly broke it off when lying on his stomach started to get a little uncomfortable for parts of him. He gave her a playful peck on the nose. "Go to sleep," he whispered. They both closed their eyes and drifted off. As the world outside melted away, he mused that this was the first time he'd felt remotely happy since that day Aaron had shown up on Daniel's farm. 

Monroe woke up when Gene entered the room a few hours later. It was past noon and he'd come to see if she was hungry. Monroe was reluctant to leave her, but he couldn't just sleep all day. He needed to feel like he was doing something. He carefully slid out of the bed and went downstairs. Someone had already let the dog in. He had his suspicions that Gene was a closet dog person. It seemed every time he turned around, Charlie's grandfather was letting him in or feeding him something. There were already bowls of stew and water waiting for Brodie when they went into the kitchen.

They ate in relative silence. Although he and Aaron had made an uneasy truce based off of their mutual appreciation for spiked coffee in the morning, Not-Priscilla freaked him out enough to force him to keep his mouth shut. Aaron had implied she could literally read their minds, but it somehow seemed worse if she could hear him actually speak. Gene came down a while later just as they were finishing up.

"We need to talk," Gene said gravely as he sat at the table.

Aaron picked up his and Not-Priscilla's plates and carried them over to the dog bowl to scrape the leftovers into it. _Sure beats having to take out the trash_, he thought to himself. "No, that doesn't sound foreboding at all," he mumbled as he set the plate on the counter and sat back down.

"When I was in town today, I heard some people talking about the Patriots. They set up a camp outside of Shreveport. They showed up after they were pushed out of Texas," he began.

Monroe looked up from his plate. He was wondering if he would ever get through one damn meal at this table without having his appetite ruined by shitty news. "That means it's only a matter of time before they make their way towards us."

Gene nodded. "So what should we do about it? It's been two months since we've heard anything from Miles and Rachel."

Silence fell as they thought about this recent development. Monroe finally spoke up. "I know a place. But Charlie can't travel now. There's no way we can risk it."

Gene agreed. "Nor will she want to. If we leave, there will be no way for her mother to find her."

Aaron leaned back. He knew Charlie as well as anyone. He was afraid Gene was right. She would try to hold out as long as she could. If they left without being able to send word, she may very well never see her family again. "Well, it's not like she'll have a choice. If they come and find out who we are, well we're pretty much dead."

"If everything goes well, how soon after do you think we can leave?" Monroe asked.

Gene looked at him like he'd grown two heads. "It's almost winter. You want to travel with newborns? Even this far south the weather can be unpredictable."

"Listen, I don't want to. But if we start seeing khaki, we've got to go. Even if they were willing to overlook who Charlie is, if they find out those kids are mine, they'll kill them." As far as Monroe was concerned, this discussion was over. They had to leave as soon as Charlie was able to travel.

That evening, he sought her company again. He'd told her what Gene had found out. And, the old man had been spot on. Charlie threw a fit about the prospect of leaving without having a way to contact her mom and Miles. Their visit ended with him promising her to find a way to get word to them and her asking him to leave her to sleep. He'd hoped that she'd let him stay, and had been unable to hide his disappointment when she hadn't. He knew he had no right to expect anything other than the chance to be there for his children. They'd only been together once. A kiss and a nap weren't a promise, and she'd never told him that she'd felt anything else for him.

After he'd been with her that night, he'd been willing to let her push him away, no matter what his feelings were. But things were different. They weren't just talking about a one night thing. They'd created a family together (sort of) and whether she liked it or not, she needed his help with this. She was a fighter to be sure, but she was one person. She needed him to protect them, and there was no way he was going to walk away from that.

He turned in early after checking on the horses again. This time he'd been smart and let the dog out right before went to bed, in hopes it would prevent another early morning episode. Sleep was once again a long time coming as his worries had now tripled in the past eight hours.

He was awakened a few hours later once again by the sound of the dog scratching to get out of the room. "Brodie, lay down," he groaned. He dragged himself from the bed long enough to look at the sky from his window. The moon was still high, indicating it was the middle of the night still. He flopped face down on his bed, and tried to will himself into unconsciousness. Brodie was having none of it. He whined again and let out a quiet bark. Tired and annoyed, he opened his mouth to yell at him when he barely caught the sound coming from the next room.

He could hear her whimpering to herself. He stilled and listened. He knew she was having problems getting comfortable lately so he hesitated. She'd been upset with him earlier. The last thing he wanted to do now was make an ass out of himself by pestering her when she was only just trying to get comfortable. But the whimper came again, followed by a quiet groan. Brodie scratched at the door again. Whatever was going on with her had apparently gone on long enough to excite the dog.

He crawled out of bed and made his way to her room. He found her sitting up in bed with her hand on her belly, the pain evident on her face. "Charlie?" She looked up at him, panting her way through the pain. "How long?"

She gritted her teeth. When the pain finally subsided she answered him. "Not long, maybe an hour."

His eyes flashed with anger. 'You should have told somebody." He got up and left the room abruptly. Finding Gene's door, he opened it loudly. "Get up, Gramps. She needs you," he barked. Gene sat up quickly. Satisfied that the doctor was now awake, Monroe went back to Charlie.

"Where did you go?" Charlie asked him.

He gave her a look that told her he thought she'd lost her mind. "Where do you think? I woke your grandfather up."

Charlie rolled her eyes in annoyance. "I wish you wouldn't have done that. This has happened before. They might go away." Those words had just left her mouth when suddenly her eyes grew wide. "Uh oh," she whispered.

Monroe did not like the sound of that. "What's uh oh? I don't like uh oh. Nothing good ever happens when someone says 'uh oh'."

He was rambling, which she had to admit would be kind of cute if circumstances were different. "I'm all wet," she explained.The fact that she found this to be absolutely mortifying was written all over her face.

Monroe sat in stunned silence for a second, "Uh oh," he whispered now. Charlie had to laugh at that. She simply couldn't help it. Monroe stalked back over to the doorway and called out. 'Gene! Get in here."

Gene finally entered the room a few minutes later. After checking her, he confirmed what they already knew. It was time. They were going to come early. Monroe carefully lifted Charlie from the bed while Gene stripped off the wet sheets. He'd thought ahead and placed a tarp under the new sheets to protect the mattress. It would make cleaning up and getting her comfortable afterwards a lot easier.

The next three days were the longest three days of Monroe's life. He'd already done this once before and it had ended in disaster – and that had been when they'd thought everything was going to be fine. He was a complete and nervous wreck, but he refused to leave her. He knew that his body would eventually take revenge on him for sleeping in that damn chair so many nights in a row.

She rested when she could, but it was never for more than a few minutes. The pains of labor simply would not allow it. Gene came and went every few hours to check her. She wasn't making progress quickly, but there was little they could do about it. As the hours slipped by, he was becoming increasingly concerned. If this went on much longer, she wouldn't have the energy to push when the time came. He was worried that they were going to be looking at making a decision sooner rather than later.

Monroe had spoken very little throughout the ordeal. He wiped her brow gently in grim determination and held her hand through the pains, but that was all. To Gene, he was stoic –void of emotion. Charlie could see the fear in his eyes and knew it was the source of his silence. He was trying very hard to not think about the past.

Gene was working up the nerve to pull Monroe aside and discuss his concerns and what their options were. He decided to check her one last time, just in case. Much to his relief, she was almost ready. He left the room long enough to send for Aaron. They were going to need a second set of hands, and Charlie had already made it very clear that she didn't want Priscilla anywhere near her when the time came.

After an hour of pushing, Gene held a very tiny little girl in his hands. Monroe breathed a sigh of relief when Gene thumped her gently on the back and elicited an angry wail. Gene quickly examined the baby. Satisfied that she appeared to be healthy, he handed Monroe a pair of scissors. Holding the cord taught, he instructed Monroe where to cut. Gene quickly tied it off and handed Monroe his daughter so she could be cleaned and swaddled. Aaron poured the warm water he'd had ready over the baby as Monroe held her gently. As soon as she was dried off, he wrapped her gently in a blanket and brought her to Charlie.

The whole process had only taken a few minutes. Charlie was leaning back against the pillow, grateful for the quick reprieve before she'd have to do this again. Monroe showed her their daughter. She smiled weakly at the tiny girl before she was wracked with another pain. The other one was coming. Aaron reached over and took the baby from Monroe so he could turn his attention to Charlie once more.

Gene checked her again. He looked up at Monroe. Making eye contact, he shook his head. "What?" Monroe asked.

"This one's breach," he said quietly.

Charlie had missed what Gene had said, but the look on Monroe's face was enough to tell her that something wasn't right. "What's wrong?"

Monroe did his best to swallow back his fear. He smiled at her as he pressed the cloth to her face to cool her. "Nothing's wrong. You're going to be fine."

She squeezed his hand. "Has anyone ever told you that you're the world's worst liar?"

Gene did his best to get the baby out safely, but it became clear very quickly that the cord was wrapped around the its neck. He knew that it may make things worse for her, but he had to get it unwrapped and reposition the head before it would be born. He was able to do just that, and finally it was over. They repeated the process of cutting the cord. This was a boy, slightly larger than his sister, and for all the danger that he'd just been through he was apparently louder than her too.

Monroe couldn't help but smile at his son as he walked over to show Charlie. As he knelt down with the baby, he was greeted with his worst nightmare. She was pale and seemed to be losing consciousness. Aaron was already reaching out to take the baby. He'd already arranged the first in a laundry basket turned bassinet.

Monroe dropped to his knees by the bed. "No, no, no - you can't do this to me. This can't happen, not again. Come on Charlie." He lifted her head off the pillow and cradled it. He looked over to Gene who was trying his best to deliver the afterbirth and stop the bleeding.

Gene kept on trying, but the tears were already brimming in his eyes. "I can't stop it. There's nothing I can do."

Monroe felt the panic and rage rise within him. "You can't give up."

Gene's shirt was soaked in red. "She's already lost too much blood."

Monroe turned back to Charlie. He rose to sit on the bed and held her unconscious body to him. "Don't leave," he whispered into her ear.

"Human life is so fragile." A voice came from the doorway. They all looked up at its source. Not-Priscilla stood there, arms crossed as she casually leaned on the doorframe. "Your bodies are so weak. You all fight so hard, but in the end, you always die. And with all the things that can kill you in your environment, you still insist on killing each other too. And when one of your kind dies, we can hear the grief of those that loved the dead."

Monroe's mind raced. "You did something. You fixed my head." He ignored the strange look he received from Gene. "You can fix her, can't you?" It almost came out as an accusation.

Not-Priscilla smiled. "We can fix anything," she said cheerfully.

"So why don't you fix her? Please?" he begged as he gently laid Charlie back down on the bed and walked over to Not-Priscilla.

She pushed herself off the doorframe and circled Monroe, watching him intently with her head cocked to the side. "We wonder what you would do if you were given a choice."

"What do you mean?"

"We are everywhere. We are in your bodies. You breathe us in. We are in your heads." She reached out and grabbed his wrists and pulled him closer to her. She leaned over and quietly sang in his ear, "We can hear your thoughts." It sent a chill down his spine like he'd never felt before. "You love the woman, but you love something else. You love power. Human emotions are so strange. We wonder which you love more."

Monroe stilled. Gene and Aaron watched him closely. Gene had no idea what was going on, but Aaron knew very well. They had done the same to him, albeit in the form of a dream. The nano in his head.

"People die. Even if we save her now, at some point she will die. Maybe before you or maybe after, but it will happen all the same. When people leave, you cannot fill the hole inside you. We can fill it for you with something that won't leave instead!" Not-Priscilla seemed pleased with her idea. "We can make lights turn on. We can make tanks roll and bombs drop. We can give you the power you loved so much."

Monroe's eyes grew distant and cold as he listened, and he began to recede into himself. Aaron snapped his fingers in front of Monroe's face to try to divert his attention. Monroe pushed his hand away. "I don't understand."

"You want her and you want your power back. You can't have both. We will help you with one. The other you have to give up. We can heal her before she dies, or we can help you destroy the men that took the power from you." Not-Priscilla smiled as she waited for his answer.

He could see it. If he had access to electricity, the Patriots would be like ants beneath his feet. He could have his republic back, and then some. He knew now that the nanotech had been absorbing electricity all this time. Maybe it was possible for them to consciously stop. If they could, he could get everything back.

"Make your choice. She is dying."

Later, he would be told that all of this occurred in a matter of one or two minutes, but it felt like an eternity of lifetimes passed him by as he stood there and envisioned what he could have. He closed his eyes and sank to the floor. He opened his mouth to tell the nano his decision. He wasn't even sure what answer would come out. "Save her," he said right before he buried his head in his hands.

"Hmmm… What an interesting choice. It wasn't what we expected." An eerie green glow filled the room as thousands of fireflies swarmed outside in the night. He lost track of how much time had passed. Gene and Aaron tended to his son and daughter while he just sat there against the wall. He looked up one last time at not-Priscilla before she disappeared down the hall. "Why did you do that?"

She looked down on him innocently. "We already told you. We were curious."

Aaron and Gene would never know what he'd just been through. Nor would they know what he'd almost done. The nano was not entirely right. He didn't love the power – he'd hated it. But for a long time, he couldn't live without it either. When he'd finally been free of it, he'd thought that demon had been laid to rest. But then there had been Mexico. He'd have told Connor anything to get him to follow, but once the idea had been put in his head, he'd wanted it desperately. A legacy was the ultimate form of immortality and power. And he'd been willing to do just about anything to restore the Republic for that end.

He didn't know why the nano compared that to his feelings for Charlie. One was love, the other was a sick addiction that he simply couldn't shake. He'd been called a monster and a psychopath more times than he could count, and that was just by the people in this room. With an exception for those few months where he'd not been able to remember any of it, he'd always just blown it off. Some things were just a means to an end. He'd never been able to understand why they couldn't see that. That was how you survived. In short he'd never really given a damn what they'd thought, and had never given their opinions any real consideration. But now, as he sat there he saw himself through their eyes for the first time and was horrified by what he'd seen. They'd been right all along. He really was a monster.

As he wrapped himself up in these dark thoughts, Charlie slowly began to regain consciousness. He crawled to her side while she looked around the room in confusion. She smiled when her eyes fell on Monroe. "How are they?" she asked weakly.

He wiped at the tears that fell from his eyes. 'They're perfect," he told her.

As if on cue, their son let out a very hungry cry. Monroe did his best to help clean her up and get her changed. Finished, he lifted her up and sat down in the chair, holding her while Gene and Aaron rushed to change the bedding. They left when they were finished to allow a little privacy. Monroe laid her down again and picked up his son. He indulged himself, joining her on the bed while she nursed first their son and then their daughter.

When she was done, he changed their diapers and re-swaddled them before settling them back down in their makeshift beds. Charlie sank down, exhausted. Even the nano could not make up for three days with very little sleep. He tucked her in and went to leave. "Stay a while," she asked him. He came back and joined her. He kissed her gently, as if his life depended on it. When her breathing began to even out, he slipped from the bed. As she fell asleep, he bent low and whispered "I love you," in her ear. She smiled in her sleep at those words. The sun was just beginning to rise when he walked down the stairs. He paused long enough to dig a few things out of his pack before walking out the door.


	8. Recovery Efforts

**A/N: This was where I had originally ended the story. But now, I have more ideas in my head for where they go from here. So I'll either add more chapters, or start a companion story later in the week. I'm not sure which way I'll go, but I do need a few days rest from writing. ** Also, I've updated Chapter 7 a little. I changed a bit of the dialog between Monroe and Not-Priscilla at the end. The only change that I made that could be seen as "significant" is I omitted the bit about the Nano healing Charlie to the point that she didn't have any of the pain from childbirth. They simply saved her life. I figure, If I had to be miserable after having my kiddos, then she gets to be too! Mwahahaha! Anyway, If you care to read the new version of that chapter, it's up. If you were happy with it as it was, well now you know the only change that may or may not be significant to the plot (haven't decided yet)**

Monroe slouched sideways on an old hammock, leaning back to watch the clouds float by through the bare limbs above him. He took another swig from the bottle in his hands. The overgrown yard around him was so secluded that he felt like he was in his own miserable little world. Most of the bushes that had taken over were now bare, but they still concealed most of the yard from view. Every so often he pushed at the ground with his toe to keep the hammock gently swaying.

"What are you doing?" Gene's voice came out of nowhere behind him.

Monroe tilted his head back. Charlie's grandfather stood behind the hammock looking mildly irritated. "Go away, Gramps."

"You have a beautiful son and daughter and miraculously, their mother doesn't hate you. So I'll ask you again, what are you doing?" Gene sounded clearly exasperated with him.

Monroe took another drink and got the hammock moving again. "What does it look like?" He held up the bottle for emphasis.

Gene reached out and grabbed the top of the hammock with both hands, bringing it to an abrupt stop. "It looks like you're trying to drink yourself into another coma."

Monroe frowned. "Bingo. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to it."

Gene walked around, ducking under the cords holding the hammock in place and now faced him. "And what are you going to do when you run out of whiskey? You can't hide out here forever."

Monroe glared at Gene. "I wasn't planning on it, not that it's any of your damn business."

"When it involves my granddaughter, I make it my business. And right now she needs you."

Monroe stood up and started walking back towards the abandoned house. "No, she doesn't. I'll only get her hurt or killed."

He didn't get very far before Gene started to stomp after him. "What are you talking about? You saved her. I don't know exactly what happened back there, but those things had the power to heal Charlie and you were the one that convinced them to do it."

Monroe stopped walking and whipped back around. "You don't get it, do you Gene? I almost didn't."

The shock on the older man's face proved that Gene hadn't realized how close Monroe had been. "You wouldn't have –"

"Yeah Gene. I would. I don't know if they were just fucking with my head or if they actually could do it. Doesn't matter. I wanted it. The messed up part is that they could literally read my thoughts and even they thought I'd choose differently." He headed back and sat down on the porch. "So what does that say about me?"

Gene sighed as he sank down next to him. "It says that you're capable of doing the right thing."

Monroe crossed his arms over his knees and rested his head on them. "This time, maybe. Next time? Who knows. I get it now. Maybe Miles is right; I'm too far gone. There will always be a part of me that will try to do the wrong thing."

"Horseshit!" Gene's expletive took him by surprise. Monroe turned his head to look at him. "If Miles can grow a conscience then so can you."

Monroe let out a halfhearted chuckle. "I think we both know I'm a lot more fucked up that Miles ever was. He may have drug me into that mess we called a Republic, but I was the one that went too far. There's something in me that's broken. Has been for a long time." He turned his attention to the bottle and tried to ignore the tears that threatened. "I have been the cause of the most painful events in the lives of everyone I've ever cared about. Miles, Connor, Charlie… Hell, even Rachel. It's better for everyone if I'm not around."

Gene shifted uncomfortably. "Is that why you brought the gun? You planning on taking the easy way out?"

_Busted,_ he thought. Monroe couldn't find the words to explain, so he just drank instead. After what had happened with Charlie, he'd needed to get away. He'd grabbed the bottle of Daniel's bourbon and the gun, but hadn't been sure which he'd use. By the time he'd found a place that he'd thought was safe from intrusion, he'd already decided that blowing his brains out wasn't the answer. He knew Gene was expecting him to say something. "It was touch and go for a while, but I'm not going to use it."

Gene held his hand out. "Okay, so give it to me then. Let's have it." Monroe pulled the gun out of the back of his jeans. He looked at it a second and then handed it over. "So what are you planning to do?"

"Leave. Aaron knows where I was planning on taking them. He can get you all there. Someone's got to track down Miles and Rachel. Let them know where to find you."

Gene's anger started to boil over. "So you're leaving her to join the fight? She almost died, does that mean nothing to you?" 

Monroe looked off into the distance. A tear made its way down his cheek. He dashed it away, hoping the other man hadn't noticed. "It means everything. And no, I'm not joining them. I promised Charlie I'd make sure her mom can find her, so that's what I'll do. And Connor and I have a few things that need saying. After that, I'll leave."

Gene was fighting an uphill battle here. He switched tactics abruptly. "Who's going to protect them when you leave? Have you even thought of that? It's selfish. You're throwing your family to the wolves because you hate what you've become. Instead, why don't you try becoming something else?"

Monroe wiped a few more tears away. "If it was that simple, don't you think I would? I've tried more than once. I've been this way for far too long. There's too much blood on my hands."

"You think you're the only one?" Gene stood up. "I took an oath to help people, to heal them. And what did I do? I spent years using my skills as a doctor to help the Patriots keep prisoners alive longer so they could torture more information out of them. All of the things the patriots have done, I could have maybe even prevented it. I could have sent word to Austin years ago. I could have done _something_. I knew what they were doing was wrong, you said it yourself. But they were giving me vaccines for the town, so I did the wrong thing. I let the ends justify the means, just like you."

Monroe sat in silence, his head now in his hands. Gene placed a hand on his shoulder right as the floodgates finally opened. They remained that way for a few minutes before Gene went to walk back through the house and leave Monroe to his thoughts. He did what he came for, he'd gotten the gun that Monroe had tried to sneak out before leaving. He opened the back door, but stopped for a second.

"Do you want to know the real reason Charlie lied to you? When she was sick she told me that she had been so afraid that if she told you she'd make you remember. It terrified her. She wanted you to get your memories back, don't get me wrong. But she couldn't bear to be the one that brought it all back. She told me she thought one happy memory was a poor tradeoff for so many painful ones." He watched Monroe raise his head, and knew he'd done all he could. Gene left him there to think about what he'd said.

Monroe sat there for several more hours. As the day wore on, he did actually think about what Gene had told him. Of course the old man was right. If he left his family who would protect them when the Patriots came? Aaron may know where to take them, but that means he would be relying on Stay-puffed to protect his children on the road. _What was I thinking? _He watched the sun set and let the night close in around him before he was ready to leave.

It was quite late by the time he'd finally made his way back to the house. By now he was confident enough in Aaron and Gene to know the horses and Brodie had already been tended to. As he went inside, it was apparent that everyone had already settled down for the night. Tossing his jacket aside on the table by the door, he slowly crept up the stairs.

Monroe paused by her door in indecision before he carefully opened it. In his absence, someone had found a crib. He walked over to it and looked down at the two sleeping forms in the moonlight. He still couldn't quite believe that they were here – that these two perfect creations were really a part of him.

He sat in the chair and took off his boots. He hesitated for a few seconds before he finally got up the nerve to climb into the bed with her. It was possible that Charlie would give him hell for his presumption in the morning, but he was tired and after everything that had happened over the past few days, he simply needed her.

As he laid down on the pillow next to hers, he held his breath – releasing it slowly as she turned to him and curled up in his arms. He was willing to take the this gesture as a sign that maybe he was welcome after all, even if she was asleep and not aware she'd made it. When she spoke, he jumped in surprise. "You came back," was all she said as she snuggled in closer.

He placed a kiss on her temple as he tightened his arms around her. "I always will," was all he said before they drifted off for a few hours of sleep before their son and daughter would need them.


	9. Public Service Announcement

**Just an a/n: The sequel to this story is has officially begun if any followers are interested in seeing what happens to next. It's called Rebuild Yourself Slowly.**

** s/10346245/1/Rebuild-Yourself-Slowly**


End file.
